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LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 


BT  VICTORIA  CROSS 

FIVE  NIGHTS 

LIFE'S  SHOP  WINDOW 

ANNA  LOMBARD 

SIX  WOMEN 

SIX  CHAPTERS  OF  A  MAN'S  LIFE 

THE  WOMAN  WHO  DIDN'T 

TO-MORROW? 

PAULA 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  KLONDIKE 

THE  RELIGION  OF  EVELYN  HASTINGS 

LIFE  OF  MY  HEART 


ie  s 
Window 

By 

VICTORIA  CROSS 


NEW  YORK 
MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 


Copyright,  1907,  by  Mitchell  Kennerley 


POPULAR  EDITION  1909 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 


And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  ust 
And  only  the  Master  shatt  blame, 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money, 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  fame; 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working, 
And  each  in  his  separate  sphere, 
Shall  paint  the  thing  as  he  sees  it, 
For  the  God  of  things  as  they  are. 

RUDYABD  KIPLING. 


LIFE'S  SHOP  WINDOW 

PART  I 
BEFORE  THE  WINDOW 


Tu  ne  qusesieris,  scire  nefas,  quern  mihi,  quern  tibi 
Finem  Di  dederint,  Leuconoe,  nee  Babylonios 
Tentaris  numeros.    Ut  melius,  quidquid  erit,  pati ! 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  sky  was  very  blue  and  tranquil  that  stretched  over  the 
village  of  Patterdale,  and  the  air,  after  a  month's  steady 
rain,  was  clear  as  crystal. 

It  was  the  very  early  spring  and  a  tender  mist  of  green 
was  beginning  to  show  amongst  the  branches  of  the  trees. 
Primroses  were  opening  their  pale  eyes  in  the  damp  copses 
and  all  along  the  banks  of  the  rushing  turbulent  rills  and 
streamlets  that  filled  the  sunny  air  with  music  for  any  who 
had  ears  to  listen.  Coming  up  the  broad,  white,  undulating 
road  that  leads  through  the  village  was  a  young  girl  of  six- 
teen, leading  by  each  hand  a  small,  lagging  child.  They 
made  the  one  group  of  figures  visible  in  the  long,  sunny 
stretch  from  the  turn  in  the  road  to  the  top  of  the  rising 
hill.  The  girl  was  tall  for  her  age  and  very  pretty  with  that 
unequivocal  beauty  which  is  independent  of  dress  and 
circumstance,  and  which  nobody — not  even  another  woman 
— dreams  of  disputing.  Just  now,  however,  her  clean 

7 


8  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

pink  cotton  dress,  falling  neatly  to  a  little  distance  from  the 
road,  and  her  shady  hat,  and  the  circumstance  of  her  long 
walk  in  the  damp  soft  air,  were  all  in  its  favour.  The 
bloom  on  her  cheeks  was  exquisite,  like  the  very  heart  of 
the  freshest  rose,  and  contrasted  sweetly  with  the  velvety 
darkness  of  her  eyes  and  the  frame  of  her  rich,  clustering, 
dark  hair. 

The  features,  small,  regular  and  yet  piquant,  the  dainty 
little  crimson  mouth  with  its  curling  upper  lip,  and  the 
arching  brows,  made  up  a  face  arresting  and  not  soon  for- 
gotten. She  carried  herself  easily  and  the  well-developed 
hips  and  supple  shoulders  suggested  all  the  vigour  and 
strength  of  youth  and  constant  work.  Just  now  she  walked 
slowly  for  the  little  feet  of  the  children  were  tired  and  she  had 
still  some  way  to  go,  her  objective  point  being  Anderson's 
Farm,  which  lay  beyond  the  village.  There  was  a  still, 
warm  heaviness  in  the  air  inseparable  from  the  first  hot 
day  after  long  ram,  and  the  girl's  eyes  grew  musing  and 
dreamy  as  their  gaze  lost  itself  in  the  golden  haze  on  the 
horizon,  and  the  trio  moved  more  and  more  slowly  up  the 
road. 

"I'se  so  tired,  Lydia,"  complained  a  small  voice  at  her 
side. 

' '  I  am  so  tired,'  you  should  say,"  corrected  Lydia, 
gently  and  mechanically,  her  thoughts  far  away,  for  her 
duties  were  many  and  varied,  and  one  of  them  was  to  look 
after  the  grammar  and  general  education  of  the  small  Ander- 
sons, and  so  make  good  her  title  of  nursery  governess,  under 
which  she  had  been  sent  to  the  farm.  Lydia  did  not  object 
to  the  work  of  her  life,  though  to  some  it  would  have  seemed 
hard,  comprising  as  it  did  rising  before  the  dawn,  milking 
some  of  the  cows,  getting  up,  washing  and  dressing  two 
small  children*  helping  to  get  breakfast,  washing  up  after 
breakfast,  teaching  two  small  children,  taking  them  out 
and  keeping  them  tidy,  mending  Miss  Anderson's  dresses 
and  the  household  linen,  helping  to  get  dinner,  washing  up 
after  dinner,  helping  to  get  tea,  milking  cows  again,  putting 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  9 

small  children  to  bed,  washing  tea  things,  and  helping  to 
get  supper.  Lydia  took  up  all  these  duties  in  turn  and 
carried  them  through  with  all  the  quick  vigour  and  energy 
of  her  health  and  nature,  but  the  great  fault  of  her  existence, 
in  her  own  eyes,  was  its  dulness:  to  get  up  so  early  and 
to  look  so  pretty  and  not  be  seen  by  any  single  interesting 
individual  all  day  long,  not  even  on  Sunday,  was  a  trial 
that  grew  heavier  each  month  that  went  by.  It  was  true 
that  there  was  Mike  the  stable  boy  and  all  the  farm  hands, 
there  was  the  grocer's  young  man  and  the  young  man  in  the 
post  office  and  general  store,  all  these  looked  upon  her  with 
pleasure  clearly  to  be  seen  in  their  faces,  and  even  the  curate, 
on  Sundays,  beamed  upon  her  kindly.  But  none  of  these 
counted  as  anybody,  simply  because,  whatever  their  ad- 
miration for  her,  her  own  attention  was  not  arrested  by  any 
of  them.  There  was  something  in  her,  not  yet  developed 
but  capable  of  development,  which  prevented  her,  in  spite 
of  her  humble  rank,  being  ordinary  and  commonplace, 
and  that  same  something  prevented  her  from  being  attracted 
by  anything  ordinary  and  commonplace.  So  she  wrapped 
herself  in  a  proud  and  lonely  reticence,  that  would  not 
have  been  hard  to  bear,  for  she  was  by  disposition  shy  and 
chaste,  except  that  Nature  would  keep  whispering  in  her 
ear,  and  the  romances  that  she  read  led  her  to  suppose  that 
at  sixteen  it  was  tune  for  her  own  romance  to  begin. 

When  she  reached  the  crest  of  the  little  slope  in  the  road, 
where  a  green  byway  led  off  across  the  fields  to  the  farm, 
the  small  voice  made  itself  heard  again  in  feeble  complaint 
at  her  side. 

"I'se  so  tired,  p'ease  sit  down,  Lydia." 

By  the  edge  of  the  road  there  were  some  logs,  cut  from 
the  neighbouring  wood  and  not  yet  carted  to  their  destina- 
tion. They  were  rather  damp  seats,  being  well  soddened 
by  recent  rain,  and  lichen-covered;  but  with  her  usual 
good-nature  Lydia  walked  to  them  and  took  a  seat  there, 
to  let  the  children  rest.  From  her  position  now  the  farm 
was  visible,  lying  somewhat  in  a  hollow,  sheltered  by  cluster- 


10  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

ing  trees.  It  looked  very  beautiful  in  the  late  afternoon 
light,  with  a  soft  sheen  of  sunlight  falling  over  its  quaint, 
irregular  and  moss-grown  roof  and  all  the  innumerable 
little  out-buildings  grouped  round  it.  It  seemed  essentially 
peaceful  lying  there  as  if  sleeping  in  the  warm  golden  haze, 
with  only  the  tiniest  film  of  blue  smoke  rising  lazily  upward 
from  it  through  the  still  air.  Lydia  leaned  her  elbow  on  her 
knee  and  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  sat  gazing  at  it  absently, 
dreaming  wonderful  things  of  life  and  her  future. 

Who  has  not  paused,  at  Christmas  time,  before  a  blazing 
shop  window,  in  which,  under  the  brilliant  lights,  were 
ranged  from  end  to  end  Christmas  cards  of  every  imaginable 
hue,  shape,  size  and  price  ?  Thus,  one  is  struck  by  their 
beauty,  the  delicacy  of  one  is  thrown  up  by  the  brilliance  of 
another,  the  tender  greys  of  one  picture  are  enhanced  by 
the  gilt  glamour  of  the  one  next  it,  all  together  they  present 
an  enchanting  scheme  of  colour  and  beauty,  each  lending  to 
and  heightening  the  charm  of  the  other.  Fascinated  by 
the  attractive  variety  we  look  from  one  card  to  another  and 
fancy  we  see  in  each  the  beauty,  which  is  really  the  beauty 
of  the  whole.  We  select  one  that  suits  particularly  our 
fancy,  enter  the  shop,  and  with  the  money  in  our  hand  we 
buy  our  card  and  go  away  well  satisfied.  Taking  it  out  of 
its  cover,  at  home,  with  the  glamour  of  the  shop  window  still 
in  our  eyes,  who  has  not  been  disappointed  with  their  one 
wretched  little  card  ?  Not  this,  not  one  card,  but  the  whole 
shop  window  was  what  attracted  and  delighted  us,  what  we 
desired,  and  what,  foolishly,  without  reasoning,  we  thought 
we  were  buying. 

Thus  is  it  with  Life.  In  our  youth,  with  money  in  our 
hands,  we  stand  and  stare  into  the  brilliant  blazing  shop 
window  of  Life.  Open  before  us  stands  the  door  of  Life's 
great  shop,  crowded  with  wonderful  glittering  golden  and 
wooden  toys.  There  are  the  picture  cards  in  the  window 
making  a  wondrous  display  of  colour  and  charm.  Each 
card  is  a  career,  a  destiny,  whatever  you  may  like  to  call  it, 
a  programme  of  an  individual  life.  We  may  choose  one  of 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  11 

these,  but  only  one.  This  is  where  the  difficulty  comes  in. 
This  is  the  cause  of  the  disappointment  in  life  that  all  youth 
feels  when  it  has  once  bought  its  card  and  gone  away  with 
it.  Poor  puzzled  Youth  that  cannot  understand  why,  when 
gazing  in  at  the  window,  it  desired  so  much,  and  now,  after 
purchase,  is  gratified  so  little.  Humanity  is  really  bigger 
than  life.  Here  is  the  trouble.  The  one  little  narrow  card 
is  not  what  it  wants,  not  what  it  is  attracted  by,  not  really 
what  it  sees.  It  sees  and  wants  the  whole  shop  window  and 
would  buy  it  if  it  could.  Nature  displays  before  us  in  our 
youth  all  the  possible  schemes  of  life,  as  the  artful  shopman 
to  the  intending  purchaser,  but  she  only  lets  us  have  one. 
There  are  some  cards  in  the  window  more  expensive  than 
others,  there  are  big  cards  and  gilded  cards,  and  these  nat- 
urally demand  more  money.  We  may  or  may  not  be  able  to 
afford  these.  But  this  does  not  affect  the  theory,  whatever 
card  we  buy,  however  big,  however  gilded,  we  are  bound  to 
be  dissatisfied  with  it;  it  is  not  what  we  thought  we  were 
buying,  we  lusted  after  the  whole  and  we  have  only  secured 
a  part.  Each  card,  each  life,  as  we  stand  staring  at  them 
from  the  outside,  is  enhanced  by  some  colour  thrown  into 
it  by  another.  In  one  we  see  the  rosy  warmth  of  passionate 
cupids  playing,  and  just  next  it,  in  a  broad  frame  of  gold,  at 
the  side  of  it,  is  a  pictured  wreath  of  palm  and  a  winged 
Victory  blowing  a  horn  in  all  men's  ears,  and  on  the  other 
side  a  landscape  of  strange  lands  and  rivers  and  trees.  In 
our  excited  and  misleading  eyes  the  cupids  and  the  gold 
frame,  the  Victory's  wreath  of  fame  and  the  lovely  land- 
scape, are  all  on  one  card — the  card,  our  card,  the  one  we 
will  buy.  So  as  we  look  into  our  future  we  see  ourselves 
beloved  and  wealthy,  victorious,  famous,  and  free  to  wander 
through  the  sweetest  paths  of  the  world,  passing  through  a 
thousand  scenes,  sometimes  loving,  sometimes  warring, 
tasting  and  drinking  of  everything  sweet  and  stimulating, 
knowing  all  things,  enjoying  all  in  turn;  but  this  is  the  life 
of  a  God,  not  a  man.  And  it  is  perhaps  the  God  in  us  that 
so  savagely  demands  the  life  of  a  God.  But  it  is  not  granted 


12  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

to  us.  We  may  enter  the  great  shop  once,  buy  our  one  card, 
and  withdraw.  What  wonder  that  if  we  have  bought  the 
card  with  the  cupids  we  are  disappointed  to  find  it  has  no 
gilt  frame,  no  Victory,  and  the  strange  landscape  has  dis- 
appeared. But  we  have  bought  cupids  and  we  must  be 
content  with  them,  and  only  them,  for  ever  and  ever,  we  are 
told.  We  cannot  expect  palms  and  wreaths  and  gold  frames 
too.  Sometimes,  very  rarely,  we  can  with  much  trouble 
change  our  card,  but  then  it  is  the  same  thing  again,  we  change 
one  for  one  other  and  what  is  the  good  of  that  ?  Unless 
we  could  go  through  the  whole  shop,  until  we  have  tried 
them  all.  And  that  is  never  allowed.  To  none  is  the  Whole 
permitted.  None.  And  as  the  cupids  failed  to  satisfy  without 
palms,  so  equally  the  palms  fail  to  fill  the  place  of  the  cupids, 
so  we  are  generally  none  the  better,  and  sometimes  worse, 
for  the  exchange.  The  time  of  youth,  when  we  are  still 
standing  outside  that  dear  delusive  window,  is  popularly 
supposed  to  be  a  very  blissful  one,  but  it  is  not  always  so, 
for  there  is  a  great  deal  of  anxiety  as  to  what  we  shall  buy. 
Nature  sometimes,  to  put  an  end  to  such  idle  indecision, 
sends  a  wild  madness  upon  us,  pushed  by  which  we  rush 
in  and  buy  without  farther  reflection,  and  these  haphazard 
purchases  often  turn  out  as  well  as  any  can,  under  the  given 
rules  of  the  shop.  Assuredly  it  is  no  use  to  delay  too  long 
looking  in  at  the  window,  or  we  find  suddenly  that  the 
pickpocket,  Time,  has  stolen  up  behind  us  and  taken  the 
money  from  our  hand:  strength,  health,  beauty,  youth,  the 
biggest  coin  of  all,  has  been  snatched  from  us  and  then  we 
can  buy  nothing.  Only  a  few  sweepings  and  remnants  may 
then,  out  of  charity,  be  flung  to  us.  And  the  girl,  now  at 
sixteen,  was  standing  with  hesitating  feet,  outside  this  same 
wonderful  window,  with  her  hands  full  of  money,  and  her 
heedless  eyes  straying  from  one  to  another  of  those  gaily- 
painted  cards,  and  as  yet  in  the  distance,  round  the  corner, 
stood  the  grim  pickpocket,  Time,  watching  and  waiting. 

The  haze  of  the  sunlight  grew  warmer  and  a  fiery  sheen 
was  thrown  upon  the  lake  from  the  lofty  fretted  ceiling  of 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  13 

sunset  red  above,  and  the  fidgeting  children  began  to  kick  their 
heels  against  the  lichen-covered  logs,  and  drum  upon  the 
projecting  branches  with  little  sticks  picked  out  of  the  road. 
Lydia  roused  herself  from  her  reveries  and  got  up.  "Come, 
children,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "it's  late,  we  must  go  home." 

She  resumed  her  walk,  turning  out  of  the  road  across  the 
broad,  luscious  fields  of  long  grass,  and  just  as  she  approached 
the  farm,  which  was  lit  up  now  in  rosy  brilliance,  she  saw 
Anderson,  the  owner,  accompanied  by  another  and  unfa- 
miliar figure,  come  out  of  the  farmyard  and  enter  the 
house.  Lydia 's  eyes  followed  them  with  interest.  She 
had  heard  at  dinner  to-day  that  Farmer  Anderson  was 
driving  into  town  that  afternoon,  to  meet  the  new-comer, 
whose  arrival  at  the  farm  had  been  alluded  to  and  discussed 
for  the  past  week.  She  had  heard  that  he  was  a  gentleman 
farmer,  though  Mrs  Anderson  strongly  objected  to  the  term 
being  used,  adding  "that  if  every  farmer  wasn't  a  gentleman 
she  didn't  know  who  was."  Lydia  herself  did  not  know 
very  well  what  the  term  implied,  but  secretly  hoped  it  meant 
a  more  interesting  type  of  human  being  than  the  farmers 
round  Patterdale.  Hastening  her  steps  a  little  she  crossed 
through  the  cabbage  and  gooseberry  garden,  and  unlatching 
the  door,  passed  straight  into  the  kitchen,  while  the  chil- 
dren scampered  up  to  the  nursery. 

"Is  that  you,  Lydia?"  called  out  the  farmer's  friendly 
voice  from  the  hearth.  "Come  here,  I  have  brought  you 
someone  from  town  to  make  the  place  more  lively  for  you. 
I  have  arranged  to  teach  him  some  farming  and  maybe 
you'll  help  him  to  learn  something  too."  Anderson,  like 
all  other  men,  had  a  liking  for  nice-looking  women,  and 
while  Mrs  Anderson  hated  the  girl  who  on  all  occasions  cut 
out  her  own  daughter  in  point  of  looks,  and  tried  hard  to 
deny  this  fact  to  herself  and  others,  the  father  himself  bore 
with  philosophical  resignation  his  own  daughter's  plainness, 
and  liked  to  see  this  pretty  maiden  about  the  house,  and 
show  her  off  to  others. 

"This  is  Mr  Bernard  Chetwynd — Miss  Lydia  Wilton." 


14  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Lydia  glanced  up  quickly  and  then  let  her  eyes  fall 
immediately;  in  the  dim  light  of  the  smoky  kitchen  her 
glance  had  taken  in  a  tall  figure  that  even  from  her  own 
five  feet  eight  of  height  seemed  to  be  a  long  way  up  in  the 
air  above  her,  broad  shoulders  and  a  strong  white  neck 
rising  from  a  common  blue  jean  shirt,  an  oval  face  of  a  warm 
white  complexion,  two  very  bright  keen  blue  eyes  and  a 
mass  of  bright  brown  hair. 

"She's  the  maid-of -all-work,"  announced  Mrs  Anderson, 
in  a  shrill  tone,  from  the  scullery,  shaking  the  water  and 
suds  from  her  fingers  into  the  pan  of  steaming  water  standing 
in  the  sink.  Hearing  which,  Farmer  Anderson  chuckled  to 
himself,  and,  seeing  his  guest  duly  interested  in  the  girl, 
slipped  out  to  his  work. 

Possessed  with  a  strong  desire  to  wound  and  mortify 
Mrs  Anderson  would  have  been  surprised  had  she  seen  the 
little  mocking  smile  of  triumph  that  played  in  the  girl's 
eyes,  beneath  their  drooping  lids,  as  she  heard  this  descrip- 
tion of  herself  and  knew  the  spirit  that  prompted  it.  What 
did  she  care  for  any  description  of  Mrs  Anderson,  standing 
before  the  new-comer  in  all  the  glory  of  her  sixteen  years, 
her  beauty  and  her  best  pink  cotton  dress,  freshly  starched 
and  ironed,  with  a  pink  ribbon  at  her  neck,  and  the  black 
velvet  strings  of  her  best  hat  tied  securely  under  her  white 
chin?  She  looked  up  again,  emboldened  by  the  bitter 
speech,  and  smiled  as  she  laid  her  soft  little  hand  in  the  large 
friendly  one  stretched  out  to  her. 

"Shall  I  get  you  some  tea?"  she  asked  shyly.  Strangers 
were  rare  at  the  farm  and  this  one  was  so  very  good-looking 
and  so  very  large. 

"Why,  you  just  tell  me  where  the  things  are  and  I  ex- 
pect I  can  get  it  myself,"  he  returned,  in  a  voice  in  which 
her  quick  ear  caught  the  pleased  inflection  at  once.  He 
was  pleased  with  her,  she  knew. 

"It's  my  place  to  get  it.  I'm  the  maid-of -all-work,"  she 
answered,  her  eyes  fairly  dancing  with  amusement. 

She  was  so  glad  somebody  had  come  to  break  up  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  15 

monotony  at  the  farm.  She  slipped  past  him  into  the 
scullery.  Mrs  Anderson  had  withdrawn  by  the  outer  door, 
to  see  after  her  cherished  clothes  line.  Chetwynd  followed 
the  girl  and  stood  watching  her  as  she  collected  the  cups  and 
spoons  and  put  them  on  a  tea  tray.  She  glanced  round,  and 
seeing  they  were  alone,  paused  in  her  work,  came  a  step 
nearer  him,  hesitated,  and  then  spoke  hurriedly  and  with  an 
effort. 

"Mrs  Anderson  does  not  like  me  at  all,  I  don't  know 
why  but  I  know  she  does  not,  so  don't  speak  to  me  much 
when  she  is  present,  don't  take  any  notice  of  me,  don't  look 
at  me;  talk  to  Bella,  her  daughter,  not  to  me." 

The  young  man  looked  a  little  surprised,  and,  meeting 
his  very  keen  clever  eyes,  she  flushed  a  hot  geranium  red. 
She  hated  appealing  to  a  stranger  like  this,  on  their  first 
meeting,  but  something  warned  her  she  must.  She  was 
woman  enough  to  read  his  glances,  and  to  know  that  Mrs 
Anderson,  being  a  woman,  could  read  them  too.  He  must 
be  put  on  his  guard  at  the  very  first,  or  he  or  she  would  be 
sent  away.  And  why  should  he  or  she  be  sent  away  just  now  ? 

Bernard  laughed. 

"I  see  she  is  rather  a  terror,"  he  said,  and  then  added, 
"but  if  I'm  very  good  and  obey  your  instructions  while  she 
is  here,  may  I  talk  to  you  whole  lots  other  times  ? " 

Before  the  girl  had  time  to  answer  the  door  was  pushed 
open  and  Mrs  Anderson  reappeared  with  a  bundle  of  clothes 
in  her  arms.  Lydia  was  wholly  occupied  with  her  tray  and 
the  young  man  stood  staring  silently  out  of  the  little  grimy 
window,  apparently  absorbed  in  the  prospect  of  the  farm- 
yard, but  Mrs  Anderson  was  not  to  be  deceived. 

"Go  upstairs  and  look  after  Sue,  you  careless  girl,"  she 
called  shrilly,  "I  hear  her  crying  up  there,  I'll  get  Mr 
Chetwynd  his  tea.  Be  off  with  you,"  and  without  a  look  at 
him,  or  a  word,  Lydia  laid  down  her  teaspoons  and  left  the 
room. 

"What  a  perfect  darling,"  thought  the  young  man  to 
himself,  looking  after  her. 


16  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Upstairs  Lydia  ran,  rather  breathlessly,  to  her  own  attic 
at  the  top  of  the  house,  glancing  into  the  children's  room  in 
passing,  and  finding,  as  she  anticipated,  that  no  one  was 
crying,  but  that  both  children  were  seated  happily  on  the 
floor,  taking  off  their  shoes  and  stockings.  Arrived  in  her 
room  she  stood  panting  before  the  small  square  of  glass  on 
the  table,  under  the  sloping  roof  of  the  whitewashed  attic. 

"How  immensely  handsome  he  is,"  she  murmured,  ad- 
dressing her  own  rosy  image  in  the  glass,  "the  very  hand- 
somest face  I  have  ever  seen,  and  he  looks  so  kind  and  nice 
I  am  sure  I  shall  like  him." 

She  tore  the  hat  from  her  head  and  threw  it  on  to  the 
bed,  very  differently  from  her  usual  neat  method,  and  then 
brushed  back  her  hair  and  patted  it  into  shape  on  her  pretty, 
small  head.  Though  very  dark,  her  hair  was  full  of  chestnut 
golden  lustre  that  shone  brightly  in  all  its  waves  and  ripples, 
and  she  could  not  help  noticing,  with  a  beating  heart  and 
full  of  joy,  how  exquisitely  it  fell  on  her  soft  white  forehead. 
Leaning  forward  a  little  to  the  glass,  she  gazed,  with  a  sort 
of  rapt  attention  and  wonder,  on  her  roseate  velvet  cheeks, 
and  into  those  large  eyes  facing  her,  behind  their  trembling 
lashes.  How  full  they  seemed  now  of  mysterious  fires! 
The  face  was  full  of  light.  The  light  of  Youth  and  all  the 
rapture  of  expectation  of  life. 

Tying  her  pink  ribbon  straight  at  her  throat  and  drawing 
in  her  neat  waist-belt,  she  turned  from  the  glass  and  went 
downstairs  to  get  the  children  dressed  and  ready  for  tea. 

At  supper  that  evening  Bernard  was  seated  opposite 
Bella  Anderson,  and,  after  his  instructions,  gazed  upon  her 
with  some  interest.  She  was  not  a  bad-looking  girl,  with 
rather  straight,  regular  features,  but  her  reddish  hair  drawn 
back  from  her  face,  her  dull  eyes,  and  the  habit  she  had  of 
letting  her  mouth  fall  open  whenever  she  listened  to  any- 
thing that  interested  her,  produced  inevitably  the  effect  of 
plainness  and  stupidity,  contrasting  curiously  with  the 
brilliant,  quick,  glancing  beauty  at  the  far  end  of  the  table, 
where  Lydia's  plate  was  laid,  far  out  of  the  meagre  circle 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  17 

of  light  thrown  by  the  lamp  that  Mrs  Anderson  had  set 
before  her  plate.  But  to  Bernard's  quick  intelligence 
Lydia's  few  words  had  amply  sufficed  to  make  clear  the  situa- 
tion, and  he  never  even  glanced  towards  the  dusky  end  of  the 
table  where  Lydia  sat  and  took  her  meal  unnoticed.  He 
talked  to  Mr,  Mrs  and  Miss  Anderson  exclusively,  turning 
a  little  round  in  his  chair  sometimes  towards  his  hostess  so 
that  his  back  was  towards  that  end  of  the  table,  as  if  he  was 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  anyone  else  was  seated  at  it. 
As  for  Lydia  she  sat  still  as  a  mouse  and  occupied  herself 
more  with  gazing  out  of  her  shadow  than  with  her  supper, 
just  taking  what  was  near  her  on  the  table,  and  never  think- 
ing of  asking  for  anything  to  be  handed  to  her  from  the  other 
end.  She  watched  Bernard  critically,  and  at  her  ease,  as 
the  light  fell  full  on  his  handsome  head  and  profile.  The 
features  were  large  and  regular  and  the  skin  had  the  warm 
clear  whiteness  of  youthful  vigour:  it  had  remained  un- 
bronzed,  unburnt  and  unfreckled  in  spite  of  his  constant 
out-of-door  life,  and  this  pleased  her  greatly  as  she  studied 
it.  It  singled  him  out  and  marked  him  with  a  certain  dis- 
tinction amongst  all  the  brown,  red  and  tawny-skinned 
Patterdale  farmers.  The  warm-coloured  threads  in  the 
thick,  short-cut  hair,  the  clear  eyes  and  quick  laugh,  gave 
an  impression  of  brightness  and  charm  that  she  felt  without 
defining.  The  arms  that  he  leant  occasionally  on  the  table, 
as  he  talked,  were  enormous  in  their  great  girth  of  muscle, 
though  the  sleek  fatness  of  youth  prevented  them  from 
being  knotty,  and  under  the  close-fitting  sleeves  of  his  grey 
flannel  shirt  they  showed  smooth,  even  proportions.  She 
gazed  upon  him,  leaning  one  elbow  on  the  table  and  her 
chin  in  her  hand,  forgetful  of  her  supper  and  everything  else, 
in  fact,  but  him:  gazed  upon  him  with  the  perfect  self- 
forgetfulness  and  unconsciousness  of  innocence.  She  had 
no  thought  of  herself,  nor  of  any  bearing  his  advent  might 
have  upon  her  own  life.  She  looked  upon  him  with  that 
instinctive  pleasure  all  humanity  looks  upon  any  perfect 
specimen  of  the  majesty  of  Life :  with  the  same  thrill  that  one 
2 


18  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

feels  at  the  sight  of  the  rounded  curves,  the  massive,  satin- 
coated  beauty  of  the  young  wild  horse  of  the  prairie,  or  the 
stately  glory  of  the  bull  elk,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  herd 
in  the  mountain  park  of  the  Rockies.  She  let  her  eyes  rest 
on  him  thus,  reflectively,  meditatively,  and  Bernard,  feeling 
the  gaze  through  his  neck  and  shoulder,  longed  to  turn 
towards  the  upper  end  of  the  table.  At  last  the  chairs  were 
pushed  back,  scraping  loudly  on  the  board  floor,  and,  as  they 
all  rose,  he  turned  and  she  met  full  in  her  own  eyes  a  bright, 
penetrating  glance  from  his,  that  seemed  to  sweep  her  whole 
face  and  figure.  She  dropped  her  own  eyes  hastily,  and, 
crossing  the  kitchen  in  a  few  swift  steps,  slipped  into  the 
passage,  closing  the  door  noiselessly  behind  her. 

Going  upstairs  she  turned  into  the  linen  room,  which  had 
a  landing  of  its  own  on  the  main  staircase  and  two  little 
steps  leading  down  into  it.  She  was  occupied  in  getting  out 
some  tablecloths  when  a  darkness  in  the  doorway  made  her 
look  up,  and  she  started  to  see  Bernard  on  the  threshold. 

"Well,  wasn't  I  good  at  supper  ?  'rhe  asked  hah*  quizzingly, 
coming  forward,  as  she  eyed  him  in  alarm  from  the  cupboard. 
"Did  I  speak  a  single  word  to  you  ? " 

"No,"  she  said  hi  an  undertone;  "but  why  do  you  come 
here  now?" 

"Because  I  want  to  know  when  I  may  talk  to  you  and 
see  something  of  you  if  I  mayn't  at  all  ordinary  times." 

"WThy  do  you  want  to  talk  to  me,"  she  asked  mistrust- 
fully, with  one  hand  on  the  cupboard  door  and  a  pile  of 
tablecloths  balanced  on  her  arm,  "more  than  Bella  ?" 

"Never  mind!  I  do.  Bella's  a  fool.  Come,  do  tell  me 
when  is  a  good  tune." 

"Do  you  want  to  lose  me  my  place?" 

"No!  of  course  I  don't,"  Bernard  exclaimed,  with  a 
sudden  softening  of  his  voice  and  face,  "I  wouldn't  for  the 
world.  You  know  I  wouldn't;  but  surely  you  go  out  some- 
times, mayn't  I  come  and  walk  with  you  on  Sunday,  just  to 
church  or  somewhere?" 

"I  do  have  Sunday  afternoon  and  I  generally  walk  over 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  19 

to  Ulswater.  I  get  so  tired  of  just  the  country  round  here," 
Lydia  answered  reluctantly. 

"Very  well!  that's  all  I  want  to  know.  I  will  meet  you 
on  the  road  half  way  to  the  lake,  you  won't  mind  that  ?  At 
anyrate  you  can't  help  it,  you  know,"  he  added  quickly. 

"N-no,  I  suppose  not,"  returned  the  girl,  hesitatingly, 
"but  do  go  away  now,"  and  she  turned  back  to  the  cup- 
board. He  went.  Her  reception  of  him  and  her  want  of 
eagerness  in  accepting  his  suggestions  were  far  from  compli- 
mentary, but  that  only  increased,  tenfold,  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  looked  forward  to  the  promised  Sunday.  His 
was  a  firm,  resolute,  energetic  character,  he  was  quick  to 
make  his  decisions  and  to  act  upon  them,  seldom,  if  ever, 
questioning  or  regretting  them  once  made.  Such  are  usually 
healthy,  vigorous  natures,  which,  while  possessing  great 
intelligence  and  quickness  of  perceptions,  have  distinctly  not 
that  curious  gift  of  intellectuality  which  is  generally  such 
a  dubious  blessing  to  its  owner.  He  went  downstairs  now, 
quickly,  decisively,  having  gained  his  point,  put  on  his  hat, 
and  went  out  for  a  walk,  with  a  smile  on  his  face  and  a  song 
in  his  heart.  The  girl  left  behind  in  the  linen  room  counted 
her  tablecloths  with  increased  attention.  She  was  very 
glad  now  that  the  decision  had  been  dragged  out  of  her, 
that  she  had  consented,  and  she  began  to  think  of  Sunday 
with  a  new  enjoyment.  She  was  the  very  opposite  to  Ber- 
nard in  all  her  mental  equipment.  Her  intellectuality, 
instead  of  being  a  negligible  quantity,  overbalanced  all  else 
in  her  character.  She  was  habitually  vacillating  and  long 
in  coming  to  any  decision  or  conclusion,  because  she  could 
see  easily  all  round  the  subject  in  hand  at  once,  whereas 
most  people,  more  fortunate  and  less  gifted,  can  only  see 
the  one  side  nearest  them  at  a  time.  Her  nerves  were 
screwed  at  a  high  pitch  and  her  imagination  was  keen  and 
active,  so  that  she  easily  apprehended  and  realised  danger, 
and  was  open  to  fears  that  never  come  near  a  simple,  direct 
nature  like  Bernard's.  Mentally  she  could  see  in  the  dark, 
as  some  people  can  physically,  as  she  herself,  in  fact,  could 


20  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

do.  Therefore,  in  a  dark  room,  she  went  slowly  and  warily, 
stepping  this  way  and  that,  for  she  could  see  and  divine  the 
obstacles  looming  ahead,  where  her  companions  generally 
blundered  forward  and  only  realised  the  chair  legs  and  foot- 
stools as  they  fell  over  them.  Supper  was  taken  early  at 
the  farm,  and  the  spring  days  were  lengthening,  so  that  a 
soft  pearly  light  still  lingered  on  the  fields  and  in  the  sky  as 
Bernard  emerged  from  the  farm  gate  on  to  the  cross  cut 
from  the  highroad.  The  blood  was  running  hotly  in  his 
veins  and  he  welcomed  the  damp  coolness  of  the  evening; 
he  had  been  constrained  and  worried  by  the  little,  pottering 
ways  of  the  household  all  day,  and  he  was  glad  of  the  wide 
stretch  of  road  and  sense  of  open  country  and  freedom  round 
him.  He  had  been  rather  disappointed  in  the  farm,  it  was 
not  entirely  what  he  had  heard  it  represented  to  him,  and 
the  whole  was  on  a  smaller  scale  than  he  expected,  but  the 
girl  he  had  seen  for  the  first  time  that  evening  was  as  surpris- 
ing on  the  right  side  as  the  farm  was  on  the  wrong  one.  So 
that  in  his  own  phrase  "things  were  evened  up."  It  was 
of  the  girl  that  he  was  thinking  as  he  walked.  He  heard 
within  himself,  distant  as  yet,  the  old  familiar  step  of  passion 
approaching,  only  the  innocence  of  the  object  here  would 
make  it  walk  more  softly  than  usual.  He  foresaw  that  though 
there  might  be  nothing  else  to  keep  him  at  the  farm,  the  girl 
alone  was  something  worth  watching  and  waiting  for.  Some- 
thing more  important  than  crops  and  fertilisers,  and  all  he 
had  come  to  study,  was  now  hi  view.  A  new  light  had  sprung 
up  quite  suddenly  on  his  horizon,  and  he  was  now  considering 
how  best  to  steer  his  craft  by  it.  So  it  is  always:  we  are 
drifting  on  the  great,  wide,  grey  plains  of  Life's  sea,  with  a 
blank  sky  above,  and  no  port  in  sight.  Then,  hi  a  moment, 
as  we  look  towards  the  horizon,  a  light  comes  up  on  that 
grey  line:  it  streams  across  the  waters  and  we  are  straining 
and  tugging  anew,  all  energy,  at  the  helm. 

He  thought  of  the  girl  now,  and  with  youth's  customary 
arrogance  assigned  her  already  her  part  to  play;  his  knowl- 
edge of  his  own  youth  and  good  looks  gave  him  confidence, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  21 

he  felt  quite  sure  he  would  triumph  and  make  her  his  own 
possession.  He  was  sure  that  she  must  be  lonely  and  worried 
in  her  dull,  petty  existence,  and  why  should  she  not,  a  young 
girl,  care  for  him  if  he  chose  to  make  her  ?  It  was  all  in  the 
natural  order  of  things.  And  here,  in  his  thoughts,  he  was 
both  right  and  wrong,  for  it  is  in  fact  easy  to  ensnare  the 
natural  bodily  instincts  of  any  young  human  being,  small, 
light  birds  that  the  fowler  seldom  makes  much  profit  on, 
but  the  capture  of  the  soul,  the  elusive  soul  that  loves  and 
lives,  is  another  and  a  different  matter.  Bernard  did  not 
make  these  distinctions.  He  knew  of  the  lust  of  the  flesh 
and  his  own  life  had  not  been  free  from  the  touch  upon  it, 
here  and  there,  of  brutal  passion.  He  also  had  a  conception 
of  love — simple,  honourable,  devoted  love;  but  of  all  those 
thousand  subtle  passions  of  the  brain  and  lusts  of  the  mind 
and  desires  of  the  soul,  that  lurk  along  Life's  highway,  dim 
shapes  of  terror,  throwing  their  spells  over  the  luckless  way- 
farer, of  these  he  had  no  conception. 

The  moon  was  rising,  and  from  the  cloudy,  covered  sky 
its  light  fell  gently,  palely,  through  the  tranquil  air,  the 
misty  lake  lay  before  him  with  a  veiled  mysterious  radiance. 
He  went  low  down  amongst  the  sedge  and  rushes  on  its 
border  and  stood  thoughtfully  looking  down  into  it.  In  it, 
as  in  an  ancient  silver  mirror,  he  seemed  to  see  the  girl's 
face  given  back  to  him,  as  our  own  thoughts  take  shape 
always  in  all  we  see,  and  he  studied  the  soft,  thick,  rather 
fat,  but  beautifully  moulded,  features,  the  plump  rosy  cheeks 
and  onyx  velvet  eyes.  He  looked  down  at  the  water  and 
her  vision  there,  till  the  blood  got  up  into  his  head  and  beat 
angrily  about  the  temples.  Then  he  threw  himself  down 
on  the  bank,  regardless  of  the  lush  dampness  of  the  herbage, 
and  drew  the  slender  reed  stalks  through  his  fingers.  They 
felt  to  him  like  cool,  shining  tresses  of  dark  hair.  He  pushed 
his  hat  off  and  lay  looking  up  at  the  milky  moon-filled  sky. 
It  was  the  roof  he  knew  and  loved  best.  He  should  nevei 
sleep,  he  felt  sure,  if  he  went  back  to  the  close,  shut-up 
bed-room  assigned  him  at  the  farm.  The  best  bedroom,  no 


22  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

doubt,  but  one  in  which  every  care  seemed  to  have  been 
given  to  excluding  the  sweet  spring  air  and  banishing  sleep. 
The  window,  not  large  to  begin  with,  was  provided  with  black 
wire  blind,  white  linen  blind,  white  curtains  and  red  stuff 
curtains.  When  these  had  tightly  covered  every  inch  of 
glass,  a  large  wire  stand  of  geraniums  had  been  pushed  in 
front,  and  next  came  his  toilet  table.  He  thought  of  these 
fortifications  in  his  room  and  dreaded  to  return  to  it.  He 
wished  he  could  stay  where  he  was  all  night.  He  loved  the 
open  air  and  the  open  earth.  He  knew  the  land  and  came 
of  a  stock  and  family  that  had  always  owned  land,  and 
loved  it,  and  worked  on  it.  The  Chetwynds  had  been 
land-owners  for  generations,  always  richer  in  land  than  in 
money,  good  and  honourable,  well  educated  without  being 
great  scholars  and  book  lovers:  intelligent,  keen-witted, 
without  the  burden  of  great  intellects:  a  fine,  handsome, 
hardy  race.  Bernard's  parents  were  dead,  his  sisters  married, 
and  his  brothers  had  drifted  away  to  America.  That  was 
the  point  on  which  his  eyes  were  fixed :  he  meant  to  go  there 
and  settle  down  to  steady  farming,  but  he  had  delayed  and 
put  off  the  going,  the  thought  in  his  mind,  though  he  did 
not  often  formulate  it  to  himself,  was  that  he  would  not 
go  alone.  For  a  long  time  past  there  had  been  a  sense 
of  loneliness  growing  like  a  long  shadow  at  his  side.  Life 
was  aimless,  empty.  He  had  always  been  able  to  keep  him- 
self comfortably  and  without  any  particular  struggle,  and  so, 
after  the  fashion  of  humanity  that  sighs  after  effort,  he  longed 
to  be  obliged  to  keep  two,  which,  with  a  particular  struggle, 
he  could  do,  uncomfortably.  His  first  youth  was  past,  the 
pages  of  its  book  scribbled  on  and  turned  over.  He  was 
nearing  thirty,  the  time  in  men's  lives  when  the  sense  of  the 
worthlessness  of  most  things  in  life,  and  the  wild  hope  that 
the  rest  may  have  value,  and  the  craving  to  possess  them, 
ere  life  itself  is  over,  all  join  and  meet  to  form  an  implacable 
restlessness  in  the  mind.  The  time  when  the  tranquil  confi- 
dence and  hope  of  youth  is  past,  and  the  resignation  of  middle 
age  not  yet  set  in.  In  fact,  Bernard,  after  having  been 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  23 

strolling  about  in  Life's  great  shop  for  some  time,  and  buying 
for  himself  all  sorts  of  cheap  little  toys  that  struck  his  fancy, 
was  now  tired  of  them  all  and  only  desired  one  large  ex- 
pensive toy  of  curious  and  intricate  mechanism — marriage. 
When  he  thought  of  that,  expatriation  seemed  no  longer  to 
be  dreaded,  and  bright  tinted  pictures  rose  before  him,  of 
sunny  skies  and  endless  uplands  teeming  with  flocks,  through 
which  he  saw  himself  passing  in  evening  light,  with  dainty 
feet,  sweet  voice,  and  laughing  eyes  beside  him.  But  this 
vision  had  never  taken  solid  shape  till,  in  Lydia's  supple 
form,  it  walked  into  the  farm  kitchen  and  stood  before  him. 
No  woman's  face  that  he  had  ever  seen  had  had  such  a 
brightness,  such  a  laughing  piquancy,  such  an  answering, 
responsive  expression:  no  woman's  form  had  called  to  him 
with  its  curving  lines  and  youthful  shape  as  this  did.  This 
was  the  vision  and  he  opened  his  arms  to  it.  For  a  long 
time  that  night  Bernard  lay  among  the  long  grasses  by  the 
lake,  and  thought.  He  had  a  quick,  decisive  way  of  thinking, 
as  he  had  of  acting,  and  he  shaped  his  plans  and  built  up 
his  future  clearly  and  steadily. 

When  Sunday  came  the  girl  was  up  at  three  o'clock  to  get 
a  good  start  with  her  work  and  be  free  to  leave  early,  but 
Mrs  Anderson  possibly  divined  some  special  desire  in  the 
girl's  quick  energy,  and  was  successful  in  finding  pretext 
after  pretext  for  delaying  her.  Not  till  three  in  the  afternoon 
did  she  obtain  a  grudging  permission  to  go  to  her  room  and 
dress.  Up  there,  at  last,  the  girl  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed  exhausted.  The  sweat  stood  in  great  drops  on  her 
white  forehead  and  tears  of  fatigue  in  her  eyes.  But  for  the 
knowledge  that  Bernard  would  be  waiting  for  her  on  the 
road,  she  would  have  foregone  her  walk  and  crept  into  the 
bed  to  rest  after  her  twelve  hours'  work.  She  lay  back  on 
it  for  a  few  minutes  and  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 
The  sun  blazing  down  on  the  rafters  above  made  the  heat 
in  the  little  attic  in  the  roof,  with  its  sloping  tent-like  ceiling, 
terrific.  She  grew  drowsy  as  she  lay  there,  but  recalling 
Bernard's  eager  face  in  the  linen  room,  a  strange  pleasure 


24  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

began  to  stir  at  her  heart,  and  a  longing  to  be  half  way  to 
Ulswater  Lake  came  over  her.  There  was  only  one  way  to 
satisfy  it  and  only  this  one  chance  in  a  whole  week.  She 
got  up,  dashed  the  tired  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  began  to 
dress.  She  bathed  her  face  and  neck  and  arms  in  the  clear 
spring  water,  shook  out  her  hair,  and  rolled  it  deftly  into  a 
great  massive  coil  on  the  back  of  her  neck,  in  honour  of  the 
day,  and  got  out  her  best  grey  cashmere  dress  from  the 
cupboard  in  the  wall.  It  was  not  nearly  so  pretty  as  her 
everyday  pink  or  white  cotton,  but  she  prized  jit  enormously 
because  it  was  cashmere.  She  had  not  worn  it  now  for  a 
fortnight,  and  she  was  puzzled  to  find  she  had  much  diffi- 
culty in  buttoning  the  bodice.  "How  fat  I  am  getting," 
she  thought,  peering  into  the  glass  with  dissatisfaction,  and 
noting  how  the  straitly-cut  dress  of  a  country  dressmaker 
tried  in  vain  to  repress  and  constrain  the  beautiful  figure. 
Then  she  put  on  a  shady  hat  with  some  pink  rosebuds 
twined  round  the  crown,  tied  the  narrow  velvet  strings 
under  her  chin,  and  seizing  a  pair  of  neat  grey  cotton  gloves, 
hurried  downstairs  and  out.  It  was  the  hottest  part  of  the 
day  and  a  drowsy  stillness  lay  over  the  whole  landscape. 
The  violet  hills  lay  as  if  sleeping  behind  transparent  curtains 
of  sunny  sheen.  The  tall  grasses  in  the  rich  green  meadows 
stood  motionless,  breathing  out  their  sweetness  in  the  heat, 
and  the  cattle  had  retreated  everywhere  into  the  cool  velvet 
shadows  of  the  larch  copse  and  fir  wood.  The  road  lay 
straight  ahead,  a  blinding  white  ribbon  unrolled  before  her, 
without  a  fleck  of  shade.  No  single  being  could  be  seen 
along  it,  nothing  stirred  in  the  whole  scene  round  her.  The 
girl  thought  nothing  of  the  heat  or  the  length  of  the  way, 
and  set  out  at  an  even,  steady  pace. 

Long  before  the  half  of  the  road  lay  behind  she  saw  a  tall, 
massive  figure  coming  towards  her. 

"This  is  not  where  I  meant  you  to  meet  me,"  she  said, 
smiling  up  at  him  as  they  met. 

"Well,  you  were  such  an  awful  time  coming,"  he  answered 
apologetically,  "I  couldn't  help  coming  up  a  little  way." 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  25 

"I  don't  mind,"  she  said  softly,  feeling  indeed  it  was 
impossible  to  be  ungracious  to  him.  He  looked  so  radiantly 
pleased  to  see  her  and  so  handsome,  with  his  face  dead 
white  from  the  heat,  and  freshly  shaved,  showing  to  par- 
ticular advantage  the  smooth  cheek  and  throat  and  finely  - 
moulded  chin. 

They  moved  on  together  down  the  road,  away  from  the 
dainty  little  village  behind  them,  which,  with  the  surround- 
ing hills,  looked  like  a  painter's  study  hi  blue  and  violet  on 
a  golden  ground.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  such  com- 
panionship, and  while  her  heart  beat  with  pleasure  as  she 
glanced  timidly  from  under  her  hat  brim  at  him,  she  realised 
suddenly  that  after  this  other  Sunday  afternoons,  when  he 
was  not  there,  would  seem  very  blank  and  dull. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  at  the  farm  long?"  she  asked, 
under  influence  of  this  new  thought. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so,  now,"  he  answered,  with  emphasis 
on  the  last  word.  "  I  did  mean  to  stay  here  some  time  but 
I've  altered  my  mind.  I  sha'n't  stay  a  minute  after — "  he 
stopped  suddenly,  and  then  added,  "after  I've  made  some 
arrangements.  I  have  heard  of  a  very  good  opening  for  me 
in  America,  and  I  sha'n't  waste  my  time  here.  Things  are 
getting  fixed  up  already.  The  thing  is,  would  you  like  a 
life  in  the  town  or  country  best  ?" 

"I  ?"  repeated  the  girl,  in  surprise,  and  yet  with  a  strange, 
wild,  questioning  throb  at  her  heart.  "What  have  I  to  do 
with  it?" 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  I  mean,"  he  said,  hastily  catching 
himself  up,  "if  you  were  in  my  place." 

She  was  looking  up  at  him  and  saw  that  a  dull  red  glowed 
in  his  face  and  he  looked  at  the  roadside  and  not  at  her. 
Again  a  strange  sort  of  clamouring  joy  rose  in  her,  but  she 
pushed  it  from  her  as  something  not  understood,  and  in  any 
case  stupid,  and  answered  quietly,  "Well,  you  see,  I  know 
nothing  of  town  life,  but  I  think  I  should  like  it.  The 
country  is  very  beautiful,  but — but,"  she  paused,  hesitating 
how  to  express  herself,  "as  one  grows  up  one  seems  to  want 


26  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

to  know  more  about  the  world  and  things  outside  just  one's 
own  life,  and  I  suppose  one  must  go  to  the  towns  for  that. 
Each  town  is  like  a  little  model  of  the  general  world,  don't 
you  think,  but  in  the  country  there  is  nothing  but  Nature 
and  all  the  things  one  knows  so  well." 

His  face  fell:  he  looked  disappointed. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "I  like  the  country  much  best. 
You  see  it's  all  I  do  know  about,  and  that's  why  I  like  it.  I 
can  always  make  a  living  in  the  country.  I've  got  the  offer 
of  a  ranch  now,  in  America,  a  splendid  place.  It  only  wants 
a  decent  man  on  it,  and  you  see  I  know  an  awful  lot  about 
farming  and  all  that.  I  came  down  here  to  see  if  there  was 
anything  more  I  could  pick  up,  but  I  see  I  know  more  about 
it  than  Anderson  does.  I  don't  know  anything  else  but  I  seem 
to  know  that  pretty  thoroughly." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  she  pondered  this  speech,  then 
he  said  suddenly, — 

"I  am  awfully  sorry  you  don't  like  a  country  life." 

"I  don't  see  that  it  matters  what  I  like,"  she  returned 
simply,  and  there  was  silence  again.  A  little  farther  on  a 
narrow  path  diverged  from  the  road  and  led  straight  into 
the  green  heart  of  a  larch  wood.  The  girl  paused. 

"This  is  a  short  cut  to  the  lake,"  she  said.  "Let's  go 
through  the  wood.  It  is  stupid  walking  on  this  straight 
white  road." 

Bernard  put  out  his  hand  to  assist  her  over  the  low  stile 
and  Lydia  laughed  prettily  as  she  took  it.  It  was  too  funny 
for  her  to  be  helped  over  a  stile!  However,  she  took  his 
assistance  with  all  the  grace  of  a  great  lady:  they  entered 
the  green  depths  together,  and  a  cool,  delicious  breath  from 
damp  mosses  and  ferns  rose  to  greet  them.  Glades,  full  of 
deep  emerald  shadows,  opened  on  every  side  of  them,  as 
their  narrow  path,  mossy  and  little  trodden,  wound  gently 
upwards  through  the  wood.  When  they  reached  the  crest 
of  the  ridge  the  trees  grew  less  thickly,  and,  looking  out  from 
them,  Chetwynd  gave  an  exclamation  of  pleasure.  L'lswater 
lay  before  them,  shimmering  like  a  great  opal,  full  of  cool, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  27 

clear,  green-grey  tints  in  the  shadow,  and  glowing  with  deep 
fiery  hues  where  the  sun  struck  the  still  surface.  The  trees 
on  the  islands  rose  tall  and  feathery  into  the  crystalline  air, 
and  their  reflections  sank,  deeply,  smoothly,  down  below  the 
delicate  blue  and  glass-like  surface  of  the  water.  Little 
boats  glided  here  and  there,  shooting  across  the  sunlit  spaces, 
and  then  vanishing  into  the  infinite  cool  depths  of  shadow 
at  the  side. 

"How  beautiful  the  lake  looks  in  this  light,"  he  said. 
"Shall  I  take  you  on  it  ?  Would  you  like  us  to  have  a  boat  ?" 

Lydia  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"No,  indeed.  I  should  never  be  allowed  to  go  out  again, 
nor  even  speak  to  you,"  she  said.  "But  would  you  like  to 
go  ?  Don't  let  me  prevent  you.  I  can  walk  back  to  the 
farm." 

Chetwynd  gave  a  great  laugh  and  flung  himself  down  full 
length  on  the  mossy  turf  where  they  stood,  on  the  ridge,  at 
the  root  of  a  drooping  feathery  larch. 

"Now  as  if  I  should  want  to  leave  you,  to  row  on  fifty 
lakes!"  he  said,  laughing  and  gazing  up  at  her.  "I  don't 
care  about  the  old  lake,  I  don't  even  want  to  look  at  it  when 
I  have  you  to  look  at." 

Lydia  flushed  suddenly,  a  lovely  red.  It  was  her  first 
compliment,  the  first  confirmation  of  the  story  she  had  so 
often  read  in  her  looking-glass,  wondering  if  it  were  true. 
The  words  went  through  and  through  her  brain  and  seemed 
echoing  all  about  her.  It  was  true  then!  She  was  good  to 
look  at.  He  thought  so.  Better  than  that  lovely  lake  before 
them. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  perhaps  a  trifle  imperatively.  "  We 
don't  want  to  go  any  farther.  It's  lovely  here.  Let's  sit 
and  talk." 

Lydia  glanced  down  on  him.  He  had  stretched  himself, 
with  that  easy  grace  that  comes  of  great  strength  and  a 
symmetrical  form,  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  was  leaning 
his  shoulder  and  uncovered  head  against  the  mossy  trunk. 
A  shaft  of  sunlight  pierced  the  green  roof  of  leaves  above 


28  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

and  fell  across  his  bright,  smiling  eyes  and  white,  even  teeth 
as  he  gazed  up  at  her. 

Lydia  looked  round  and  then  took  her  seat  on  the  ground, 
a  few  feet  from  him.  There  was  an  old  overgrown  tree 
stump  which  made  a  stiff,  straight  back  for  her,  as  she, 
rather  primly,  sat  down  against  it,  her  face  towards  the 
lake.  All  the  slope  intervening  between  them  and  the  lake 
was  one  great  hayfield,  and  the  grass  was  already  growing 
high  in  it.  The  blue  bird's-eyes  and  the  forget-me-nots  made 
little  spots  of  celestial  colour  in  it,  and  the  white  spring  butter- 
flies, and  the  yellow  butterflies,  floated  across  it  lazily,  as  if 
borne  up  by  the  shimmering  sea  of  sun. 

"Where  is  your  home,  where  are  your  own  people?" 
Chetwynd  asked,  after  a  minute,  in  which,  while  she  watched 
a  butterfly,  he  had  been  studying  her  face. 

"  I  haven't  any  now,"  the  girl  answered  tranquilly. 
"Mamma  used  to  keep  a  lodging-house  in  Ambleside,  and 
some  of  her  people  lived  in  Tunbridge — you  know — by 
London.  Mamma  died  when  I  was  quite  little,  and  then 
aunt  sent  me  to  school;  we  learnt  all  sorts  of  things  at  school — 
French,  and  the  piano,  and  all  that.  Then  when  I  grew  up 
aunt  was  poorer,  and  couldn't  afford  to  go  on  with  the  school, 
and  she  said  I'd  better  see  if  I  couldn't  earn  something  with 
my  education." 

"So  your  parents  kept  a  lodging-house!  I  can't  some- 
how believe  it!  What  was  your  father?" 

"Father  was  a  builder,"  she  answered  simply. 

Now  Lydia,  like  many  other  young  people,  was  quietly 
vouching  for  things  of  which  she  knew  less  than  she  thought. 
All  she  had  said  so  far  had  been,  to  a  certain  degree,  correct, 
but  she  had  left  out  the  name  of  a  person  of  whom  she  had 
indeed  never  heard,  and  yet  who  had  the  chief  responsibility 
of  her  existence.  Sixteen  summers  ago  an  undergraduate, 
the  Hon.  Dudley  Keith,  had  stayed  at  Mrs  Walton's  lodging- 
house,  to  read  during  the  long  vacation.  Mrs  Wilton  was 
very  pretty  and  the  undergraduate  was  very  dull.  In  the 
soft,  long,  summer  twilights,  when  the  fire  of  the  brain  had 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  29 

communicated  ungovernable  fire  to  the  blood  of  the  student, 
words  were  whispered  and  kisses  exchanged  of  which  the 
builder  remained  in  happy  ignorance,  and  when  Lydia 
appeared  in  the  world  she  was  welcomed  as  a  legitimate 
child,  and  grew  up  with  the  builder's  other  children  as  her 
brothers  and  sisters.  Mrs  Wilton  had  stepped  from  the 
path  of  virtue  for  love  alone  and  had  never  asked  nor  received 
a  present  from  the  undergraduate,  but  as  she  watched  her 
most  dearly-loved  child  grow  up  she  saw  that  his  involuntary 
gifts  to  his  daughter  were  unmistakeable.  From  him  she 
had  her  aristocratic  voice  and  bearing,  the  turn  of  her  head 
and  the  proud  curl  of  her  lip,  her  eager  love  of  books,  her 
quick,  inquiring  intellect,  her  pretty,  easy  ways  and  manner. 
Even  as  a  little  child  these  were  remarkable,  and  the  mother's 
eyes,  watching  her,  would  often  fill  with  vain  longing  tears, 
so  clearly  did  her  lover  stand  before  her  in  her  child.  Not 
to  others,  perhaps,  was  it  apparent,  for  country  wits  are 
heavy  and  country  eyes  dull.  They  only  saw  a  notably  pretty 
and  graceful  child,  and  Mrs  Wilton,  with  seven  children, 
and  always  beside  the  proud  builder,  was  without  reproach. 

Bernard,  looking  at  her  now,  and  being  neither  slow  of 
wit  nor  dull  of  eye,  nor  of  the  lower  classes,  felt  sure  that 
somehow  in  those  veins  flowed  blood  of  rarer  quality  than 
country  clowns  have  in  theirs.  Beauty  is  an  impartial  gift 
of  Nature  to  the  very  lowest,  beauty  of  form  and  of  colour, 
but  the  beauty  cf  sound,  certain  tones  of  voice,  certain  invol- 
untary ways  of  thought,  these  are  the  gift  of  heredity  alone, 
the  result  of  long  generations  of  birth  and  breeding  and 
culture. 

Bernard  however  accepted  her  statements,  guessing  at 
some  suggestion  of  the  truth  in  the  silence  of  his  own  brain. 

"You  are  so  lovely,  I  believe  the  fairies  were  yourparents," 
he  said,  laughing. 

"You  are  so  lovely."  How  strange  and  wonderful  the 
words  sounded.  The  green  wood  seemed  to  spin  round  her 
as  she  heard.  She  looked  at  him  timidly,  pale  this  time 
from  excitement. 


30  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Do  you  really  think  I  am — lovely?"  she  asked  shyly, 
her  bosom  rising  and  falling  visibly. 

"I  do  indeed,"  he  answered,  smiling  and  caressingly. 
"I  think  you  lovely  and  a  darling,"  and  he  leant  forward 
and  tried  to  take  her  hand. 

But  a  sudden  anger  swept  over  the  girl.  She  snatched 
her  hands  from  the  turf  and  folded  them  both  tightly  to- 
gether in  her  lap. 

"I  shall  go  home  if  you  talk  like  that,"  she  exclaimed 
inconsequently. 

"I  only  answered  your  question,"  replied  Chetwynd, 
in  rather  a  hurt  tone. 

Lydia  frowned. 

"Yes.     But  you  answered  it  too  much  /" 

Chetwynd  burst  into  a  good-humoured  laugh,  leaning 
back  again  against  his  own  tree. 

"I  am  very  sorry.  I  apologise  for  the  extra  information 
I  gave  and  that  was  not  required.  It's  true  all  the  same." 

Lydia  did  not  answer.  She  gazed  severely  towards  the 
lake.  Her  face  white,  her  eyebrows  still  drawn  together  in 
a  frown.  She  felt  a  strange  nameless  excitement  waking  up 
hi  her,  a  strange  trembling  of  her  muscles,  a  great  warm  joy 
rushing  into  her  heart.  She  felt  sure  she  must  really  be 
very  angry  with  Chetwynd;  she  felt,  instinctively,  that  at 
all  costs  she  must  appear  so,  and  yet — and  yet — she  had 
never  felt  so  happy,  so  pleased,  so  overjoyed,  and  she  sat 
rigid,  looking  before  her,  and  frowning  at  the  lake,  trying  to 
keep  angry,  but  full,  full  to  the  lips  of  a  great  nameless  delight. 

Chetwynd  rolled  over  on  his  chest,  and  leaning  on  one 
elbow  pulled  at  the  tiny  delicate  flowers  that  grew  in  the 
turf,  miniature  parterres  of  red  and  blue  and  yellow  spangled 
through  the  short,  thick  grass,  where  the  moss  pushed  up 
between  the  blades,  proudly  raising  to  the  light  its  thousands 
of  microscopic  spears,  each  bearing  aloft  its  dark,  glossy  head. 
He  pulled  at  these  absently,  tearing  off  a  hundred  at  a  tune, 
and  they  slipped  through  his  fingers  and  fell  back  on  the 
breast  of  the  wounded  moss.  The  copse  was  very  silent. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  31 

There  was  a  great  stillness  all  round  them.  Yet  a  stillness 
full  of  sound.  Nature's  own  stillness,  in  which  infinities 
of  tiny  voices  rise  upon  the  listening  air,  in  such  a  choir  of 
perfect  harmony  that  to  the  dull  ear  of  man  it  seems  like 
silence.  As  the  two  human  beings,  sitting  on  the  ground, 
in  the  sweet  shadows  of  the  interlacing  larch  boughs,  neither 
moved  nor  spoke,  the  great  kingdom  of  the  wood  began  to 
continue  its  usual  business,  that  had  been  interrupted  by  their 
presence.  At  the  sound  of  the  human  voice  the  whole  heart 
of  the  animal  world  stands  still  with  terror,  its  voice  is  mute, 
but  when  that  odious  sound  is  stilled,  then  the  small  soft 
throats  of  the  forest,  furred  and  feathered,  give  out  again 
their  delicate  symphonies  of  love  and  joy.  A  thrush  in  a  little 
bush  close  by  them  forgot  their  presence  and  began  to  gossip 
to  himself  in  low,  warbling  tones:  he  was  really  house- 
hunting in  that  bush,  looking  out  for  a  desirable  site  for  a 
nest,  and  great  gushes  and  trills  of  music  broke  from  his 
throat  now  and  then  as  he  thought  of  the  mate  that  had  yet 
to  be  found  and  wooed  and  won.  A  tiny  blue  and  yellow 
tit  glanced  backwards  and  forwards,  with  the  bright  sun  on 
its  wings,  and  far  back  from  a  dell  behind  them  came  the 
low,  triumphant  call  of  the  blackbird  as  he  swept  through 
the  green  light  of  the  shady  glades.  Living,  loving,  nesting, 
wooing,  mating,  singing,  trilling  forth  their  joy  in  life  and 
love,  the  great  world  of  the  wood  went  on  about  them  and 
the  fire  of  it  got  into  the  man's  blood  and  he  turned  his  face 
away  from  the  girl  and  pressed  it  on  his  clasped  hands  that 
lay,  palm  downwards,  on  the  moss,  and  lay  listening  to  the 
glad  calls  from  tree  to  tree,  and  bush  to  bush,  that  multiplied 
themselves  now  in  the  quiet.  Two  ringdoves  of  the  wood 
flew  suddenly,  with  the  sound  of  shivering  wings,  to  the 
tree  above  them,  perched  on  a  branch  in  it,  and  began  to 
coo,  violently  at  first,  then  softly,  then  more  violently  again, 
as  their  passions  rose  and  fell.  The  two  human  beings 
beneath  sat  tongue-tied  and  silent,  and  listened  to  them. 
Quietly  the  soft  golden  minutes  floated  by,  and  the  girl  sat 
rapt  and  spellbound,  motionless,  for  the  pressure  of  count- 


32  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

less  feelings,  indefinable,  unexplainable,  was  upon  her,  like 
a  million  tiny  hands  that  clung  to  her,  holding  her  still. 
Never  again  would  she  be  so  happy,  never  again  would  the 
minutes  float  by  so  soft,  so  brilliant,  so  light  filled.  For 
that  tune,  when  mind  and  brain  and  heart  are  white-wax- 
like  and  virgin,  infantile,  as  well  as  the  body,  and  stand 
awaiting  the  first  onrush  of  passion,  stand  listening  for  the 
call  and  mandate  of  Nature,  and  knowing  they  will  go  for- 
ward obediently  to  the  unknown,  that  time  is  unequalled. 
No  pleasure  afterwards,  whatever  intoxications  the  soul  and 
body  may  know,  can  ever  equal  that  first  palpitating,  expec- 
tant, divine  curiosity,  when  the  soul  stands  on  tiptoe,  trem- 
bling and  waiting.  Very  slowly,  imperceptibly,  the  sunshine 
grew  more  orange,  the  white  light  went  out  of  it,  and  it  grew 
more  lustrous :  stealthily,  inch  by  inch,  the  shadows  stretched 
forward  across  the  sunny,  sloping  meadow,  and  a  pure,  pale 
green,  tranquil  and  translucent,  began  to  fill  the  western  sky. 
That  exquisite  green  of  the  sunset  sky  that  seems  to  hold  in  its 
infinite  stretches  all  the  longings  of  men,  to  which  men, 
through  all  ages,  have  turned  their  aching  eyes  in  vain.  Calm, 
unheeding,  immutable,  glorious  in  its  beauty,  it  renews  itself 
again  and  again  eternally,  that  pure  luminous  green  of  the 
evening.  Suddenly,  jarring  upon  all  the  other  sweet,  joyous 
sounds  of  the  light  love  of  the  wood,  came  a  faint,  weak 
whine  of  animal  pain  not  far  from  them.  Lydia  started  and 
looked  round,  listening. 

"What  is  that?     Some  creature  in  distress?"  she  said. 

It  was  repeated  weakly,  and  she  rose  to  her  feet.  Chet- 
wynd  got  up  too,  and  as  she  went  forward  to  a  sort  of  thicket 
in  the  copse  he  followed  her:  she  walked  so  easily,  parting 
the  great  envious  blackberry  brambles  that  trailed  from  bush 
to  bush,  and  Chetwynd,  coming  close  behind,  felt  his  blood 
thrill  as  he  watched  that  well-balanced,  supple  young  form, 
bending,  swaying,  stooping  under  this  branch,  moving  aside 
from  that  one,  as  she  went  forward. 

"Oh,  look,  it's  a  poor  rabbit,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly, 
as  the  thicket  gave  way  to  a  small,  bare  turfy  glade,  in  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  33 

centre  of  which  a  steel  spring  trap  had  been  set.  Lying 
over  on  the  reddened  grass,  its  pure  white  fur  bloodstained 
and  bedraggled,  its  two  hind  legs  caught  securely  between 
the  sharp  steel  teeth,  was  a  fine,  wild,  female  rabbit.  It 
had  evidently  been  a  long  time  in  the  trap,  doubtless  since 
the  first  early  dawn  when  it  came  out  for  its  breakfast  nibble 
on  the  dew-spangled  grass;  how  terribly  it  had  fought  and 
struggled  all  through  that  glorious  sunlit  day  the  black  blood 
on  the  steel  of  the  trap,  the  black  stains  on  the  turf,  and  the 
limp,  lacerated  legs,  torn  out  almost  from  the  soft,  heavy 
body,  told  too  plainly.  Now  it  was  dying:  its  large  dark 
eyes  were  dim  and  clouded,  its  panting  breath  came  fee- 
bly from  the  soft  white  breast,  one  of  the  million  beautiful 
perfect  works  that  Nature  creates  apparently  so  heed- 
lessly, to  be  destroyed  so  pitilessly.  With  her  face  suddenly 
blanched,  and  a  look  of  horror  in  her  eyes,  Lydia  went  softly 
up  to  the  trap  and  knelt  beside  it.  Chetwynd,  who  was 
gentle  and  kind-hearted  naturally,  but  who,  as  a  farmer, 
with  the  farmer's  instincts  in  him,  had  no  particular  love 
for  rabbits,  watched  her  intently.  She  did  not  appeal  to 
him  for  help,  or  indeed  speak  to  him,  or  seem  to  know  he 
was  there.  Quickly,  firmly,  she  pressed  down  the  spring 
of  the  trap,  and  with  a  soft,  quiet  hand  drew  the  poor 
mangled,  quivering  body  from  it.  Could  there  be  any 
magnetic  expression  in  that  touch  of  the  fervent  sympathy 
that  was  pouring  through  all  her  body?  Chetwynd  won- 
dered, for  the  rabbit  did  not  scream  with  fear,  as  he  had 
heard  them  do  often  when  approached  to  be  released  from 
the  trap.  Very  softly  she  drew  the  rabbit  oh  to  her  knees, 
making  a  warm  basin  of  her  rosy  hands  for  its  head.  It 
did  not  struggle  any  more  nor  seem  to  be  alarmed  Per- 
haps some  voice  from  her  heart  spoke  to  it,  perhaps  it  had 
no  fear,  for  fear  is  one  of  the  gifts  of  life,  the  twin  to  hope: 
when  the  hope  of  life  is  past  fear  departs  also,  and  then 
only  despair,  the  gift  of  death,  remains.  Motionless,  in  her 
cramped  position,  the  girl  waited  while  the  tortured  rabbit 
gasped  out  its  life  on  her  lap.  It  had  ceased  to  moan.  Its 
3 


34  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

broken,  twisted  legs  lay  limp  and  nerveless,  its  soft  white 
dabbled  fur  shook  with  its  quick,  expiring  sighs.  Over 
their  heads  stretched  the  pale,  delicate  sky,  ia  its  pure,  serene, 
infinite  green  stretches.  The  filmy  brown  eyes  of  the  dying 
rabbit  grew  fixed  and  set;  in  a  few  moments  more  the  sighing 
gasps  were  over.  Life's  magic  touch  was  withdrawn,  and 
that  perfect  little  piece  of  mechanism,  that  small  world  of 
hopes,  fears  and  desires,  that  network  of  quick  pulses  of 
veins  and  muscles,  the  home  of  so  much  fleetness,  agility 
and  animation,  was  now  a  nothing,  a  huddled  heap  of  crushed 
bones  and  bloodstained  fur.  Seeing  the  rabbit  was  dead, 
and  sound  and  motion  could  no  longer  alarm  it,  Lydia  laid 
it  back  on  the  grass  before  her  and  bent  over  it,  stroking 
its  glossy  side. 

"Poor,  poor,  little  rabbit!"  he  heard  her  murmur,  and 
saw  a  torrent  of  tears  burst  from  her  eyes  and  flow  down  her 
cheeks.  Chetwynd  was  deeply  moved.  He  bent  down 
beside  her  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"Don't  cry,  darling;  what  is  one  little  rabbit,  after  all?" 

"Oh,  it  isn't  only  that,"  she  sobbed,  still  stroking  the 
dainty  grey  and  white  fur,  "but  it  seems  so  cruel.  Think 
what  agony  it  has  been  in  all  this  long  day,  what  an  agony 
of  pain  and  terror  combined,  and  it  was  so  close  to  us,  suffer- 
ing so  much,  while  we  were  so  happy." 

Chetwynd  coloured  with  sudden  joy  as  he  heard  this 
admission,  made  so  thoughtlessly,  so  unconsciously,  in  her 
tide  of  emotions,  outside  herself. 

"They  are  horrible,  cruel  traps.  The  farmers  have  no 
right  to  torture  the  animals  they  want  to  catch.  And  it  seems 
such  a  pity,"  she  went  on,  the  tears  still  welling  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  great  sobs  breaking  from  her  swelling  breast, 
"it  is  such  a  perfect  little  thing  in  itself,  so  pretty,  so  won- 
derfully formed.  Nothing  that  man  can  make  could  come 
near  it  in  beauty,  and  he  destroys  it  so  clumsily." 

Chetwynd  gazed  at  her  in  silence,  with  strange  fire  and 
longing  in  his  eyes.  Lydia  got  up  from  her  knees  and 
seemed  to  force  her  tears  back. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  35 

"It  is  getting  late,"  she  said,  "we  must  go.  It  is  dead. 
We  can  do  nothing." 

Her  dress,  the  grey  cashmere  of  which  she  had  been  so 
proud,  was  spoiled  by  the  bloodstains,  but  she  did  not  heed 
it.  As  she  rose  Chetwynd  noticed,  with  dismay,  blood  was 
running  from  one  of  her  own  fingers. 

"Look!"  he  said.  "You  have  hurt  your  hand  with 
that  abominable  trap." 

"Yes.  I  see,"  she  said  indifferently.  "They  are  always 
hard  to  open,  but  there's  nothing  in  that.  Let  it  bleed," 
she  added,  as  Chetwynd  drew  out  his  handkerchief,  "the 
steel  was  rusty :  it  is  better  to  let  the  poison  bleed  out.  Why," 
she  said,  smiling  suddenly  at  him,  "you  look  quite  upset! 
A  cut  finger  won't  hurt  me,  a  great,  fat  human  being!  Think 
of  the  agony  of  that  poor  little  thing  all  day." 

Chetwynd  gazed  at  her  with  a  sort  of  delight  and  admira- 
tion. The  flesh  of  her  finger  was  ripped  open,  from  the 
jagged  tooth  that  had  caught  it,  and  the  blood  flowed  freely 
as  she  held  it  downwards. 

"Most  women  cry  over  a  cut  finger,"  he  said. 

"Well,  not  quite  all  women,"  she  answered  composedly, 
smiling.  "Now  you  may  tie  it  up  if  you  want  to,"  and  she 
held  her  little  soft  hand  out  towards  him.  White  and  small, 
in  spite  of  all  the  use  she  had  from  it.  For  the  hands,  like 
the  voice,  are  the  gifts  of  race  and  heredity,  and,  once  formed 
by  these,  cannot  be  spoiled  by  any  work. 

With  a  trembling  of  his  fingers,  and  very  awkwardly, 
Chetwynd  attempted  to  tie  up  the  wounded  hand,  but  a 
great  embarrassment  was  upon  him,  the  embarrassment  of 
her  warm  vivid  face  and  the  curved  young  breast  that  was 
now  so  near  him. 

"That  won't  do,"  she  said,  "you're  not  tying  it  properly. 
What  are  you  thinking  of?  Tie  it  round  the  wrist. 
Thank  you,  that's  better.  Now  let  us  go  back.  I  shall  be 
late." 

With  a  last  look  at  the  rabbit,  stiffening  on  its  mossy  bed, 
in  the  gathering  twilight  beneath  the  pale,  calm  sky,  she 


36  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

turned  from  the  dell  and  rounded  the  thicket  to  avoid  the 
brambles.  They  regained  their  former  narrow  path  and 
walked  rapidly  out  of  the  wood. 

Once  on  the  high  road,  they  walked  quicker  still.  It 
stretched  before  them,  bathed  in  pleasant  light  from  the 
lustrous  green  of  the  sky,  where  a  few  stars  shone  faintly, 
and.  from  the  meadows  at  the  side  of  the  road,  there  began 
to  rise  thin  wraiths  of  mist,  as  the  chill  of  the  dew  struck 
into  the  heated  air  of  the  day.  Gradually  these  mists  rose 
higher,  and  from  all  sides,  till  the  fields  seemed  smoking, 
and  curious  weird  phantom  shapes  loomed  up  from  them  as 
the  light  in  the  air  faded  and  the  night  fell.  Chetwynd 
walked  beside  the  girl,  thinking.  How  he  felt  he  cared  for 
her,  loved  her,  now:  what  a  dear,  little,  warm,  passionate 
heart  she  had  showed  him,  as  she  caressed  the  rabbit  with 
those  slim  white  hands,  that  were  full,  overflowing,  with 
sympathy.  What  understanding  of  other's  pain  she  had, 
what  indifference,  what  courage  she  displayed  towards  her 
own! 

He  grew  very  silent,  filled  full  of  a  desire  that  oppressed 
and  weighed  upon  him  like  a  heavy  load,  to  get  into  some 
nearer  intimacy  and  companionship  with  her;  to  establish 
some  rights  for  the  future,  yet  held  back  at  all  points  by  her 
reserve,  her  youth,  her  defencelessness,  and  her  proud  con- 
fidence in  herself  and  him.  But  when  in  the  failing  light 
the  farm  became  faintly  visible,  and  he  realised  that  for  a 
whole  week  he  might  hardly  have  speech  with  her  again, 
the  burden  became  intolerable,  and,  walking  close  at  her 
side,  he  gently  clasped  her  arm  above  the  elbow,  and  whis- 
pered,— 

"Will  you  give  me  one  kiss  before  we  have  to  say  good- 
bye ? " 

They  were  just  passing  one  of  the  large  barns  that  loomed 
up  beside  them  in  the  mist.  Lydia,  who  had  been  walk- 
ing hurriedly,  absorbed  and  silent  too,  thinking  of  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour  and  the  work  awaiting  her,  raised  her  head 
suddenly  in  startled  anger.  She  gave  him  one  fleeting 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  37 

glance  of  indignant  reproach,  and  then,  shaking  her  arm 
free,  without  a  word,  fled  from  him,  up  the  alley  by  the  barn, 
through  the  long  lines  of  kitchen  gardens,  by  a  short  cut 
that  she  knew,  towards  the  house,  fled  from  him  in  the 
gathering  twilight  that  a  few  minutes  before  had  seemed 
drawing  them  closely  together  and  enfolding  them  as  if  they 
two  were  alone  together  in  the  heart  of  a  great  pearl.  The 
first  approach  of  passion  is  the  alphabet  of  a  woman's  edu- 
cation. When  Lydia  fled  back  to  the  farm  in  the  dusk  she 
had  already  lost  much  of  her  girlhood.  She  had  made  one 
long  step  forward  to  womanhood,  and,  undressing  in  her 
room  that  night,  she  dimly  realised,  herself,  that  she  was  a 
different  being  from  the  one  that  had  gone  out  from  that 
room  in  the  morning.  The  child  had  died  in  her  finally. 
She  was  full  of  nervous,  restless,  feverish  feelings,  and  as 
she  took  off  her  clothes^  slowly,  piece  by  piece,  she  looked 
seriously  at  herself  and  at  her  beauty  as  she  had  never  done 
before.  She  unhooked  the  little  square  of  glass  from  the 
wall  and  held  it  over  her  head  at  an  angle,  looking  up  at  it, 
so  that  she  could  catch  in  it  a  partial  reflection  of  her  own 
face  and  body.  It  struck  her  as  being  very  beautiful,  a  thrill 
of  wonder  and  pleasure  ran  trembling  through  all  her  limbs, 
and  she  let  the  arm  and  hand  that  held  the  glass  fall  to  her 
side,  and  sat,  still  and  musing,  on  the  side  of  the  bed.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  Why  was  beauty  given  to  one, 
suddenly,  like  this,  like  light  flung  all  over  the  body?  For 
it  was  sudden.  Lydia  remembered  herself  well  as  a  child, 
a  little,  skinny,  slender  object,  nicely  formed  and  pleasing, 
it  is  true,  but  this — this  that  she  saw  now,  in  the  glass,  was 
something  different,  this  radiant  blush  upon  the  cheeks, 
this  brilliant  light  in  the  wide-open  eyes,  this  rounding  of  all 
the  contours,  hiding  of  all  the  bones  under  the  skin,  till  it 
was  like  soft  white  velvet  padding  on  her  throat  and  shoulders, 
wherever  she  looked.  Who  and  what  had  done  all  this? 
And  why  ? 

Lydia  heard  for  the  first  time  the  rushing  of  that  great 
river  that  flows  for  ever  under  all  our  life.    The  river  of  the 


38  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

passions,  which  Nature  has  ordained  to  flow  there,  beneath, 
in  the  quiet  and  darkness,  fertilising,  enriching,  reproducing 
the  life  above. 

Far  away  in  the  East,  in  a  great  plain  of  flowers  and 
foliage,  stands  the  great  city  of  Damascus.  It  is  surrounded 
with  a  glory  of  green  trees,  its  gardens  flourish,  its  streets 
are  teeming  with  life,  it  is  filled  with  innumerable  houses 
and  dwellings,  and  underneath  it  flows,  deep  in  the  earth, 
the  hidden,  inexhaustible  river  that  for  thousands  of  years 
has  fed  and  watered  and  nourished  and  enriched  the  city. 
Here  and  there,  in  the  thronged  streets,  it  comes  up  bubbling 
turbulently  to  the  surface,  it  sparkles  in  the  fountains  and 
lies  silent  in  the  wells;  from  end  to  end  of  the  city  the  song 
of  the  waters  is  heard,  and  the  rushing  of  the  river  is  a  cease- 
less undertone  to  the  mingled  sounds  of  the  traffic  and 
trading. 

Even  so  is  life,  with  its  underlying  river  of  the  passions, 
and  the  girl,  in  the  stillness  of  her  little  room,  could  hear  now 
the  loud  rushing  of  the  tumultuous  river,  and  bent  a  wonder- 
ing ear  to  listen. 

She  thought  of  the  kiss  that  had  been  asked  for  and 
refused  by  her:  the  sudden  pressure  on  her  arm,  the  mur- 
mured tone,  the  whiteness  of  Bernard's  face  in  the  dusk, 
and  a  little  panting  breath  parted  her  lips.  The  sight  of 
herself  became  intolerable  to  her,  it  seemed  burning  her. 
She  put  out,  suddenly,  the  dull  flame  of  the  candle,  and  got 
hastily  into  bed,  only  to  stare  wide-eyed  into  the  darkness. 
So  much  worth  thinking  of  and  considering  seemed  pressing 
home  to  her.  She  was  like  one  who  has  been  walking  for 
some  time  along  a  plain  white  road  between  high  walls,  in 
which,  quite  suddenly,  a  great  door  has  been  pulled  open, 
disclosing  wonderful  gardens  and  orchards,  with  trailing 
vines  and  hanging  fruit,  and  a  far  view  to  the  sea  beyond. 
Lydia  had  stopped  short,  so  to  speak,  in  front  of  this  door, 
while  a  voice  within  her  said,  "That's  your  road,  go  in  there." 

Feverishly  she  tossed  and  turned  in  her  narrow  bed. 
She  knew  it  was  Bernard's  hand  that  had  pulled  open  that 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  39 

door.  She  knew  instinctively  that  he  was  waiting  there, 
eager  to  lead  her  over  the  threshold,  and  a  great  bounding 
delight  and  curiosity  was  swelling  within  her.  It  is  a  great 
thing  when  you  have  been  walking  hard  for  some  time,  on 
a  plain,  dusty,  uninteresting  road,  never  seeing  anything 
better,  to  be  invited  to  walk  through  the  orchards  under  the 
vines  instead.  Lydia  thought  of  Bernard,  and  his  image 
rose  before  her  in  the  darkness,  as  hers  had  done  before  him 
in  the  lake.  She  looked  at  it  and  admired  it,  and  was  grate- 
ful to  him,  not,  as  is  the  case  with  many  girls,  because  she 
pleased  him,  but  because  he  pleased  her.  Lydia  knew  that 
she  pleased  the  eyes  of  most  men  that  she  met,  but  never 
till  now  had  she  herself  been  pleased.  The  thin,  sallow 
curate,  the  brown-faced  farmer,  the  red-skinned  dairy  owner, 
the  undersized  school  teacher — could  any  of  these  open 
those  unknown  paths  of  feeling  for  her  and  teach  her  to 
tread  them  as  this  man  was  doing?  Never,  never,  and  in 
the  dark  room  she  saw  the  gleaming  threads  of  red  gold  in 
his  hair,  and  the  clear  whiteness  of  cheek  and  chin,  and  felt 
deeply,  wildly,  grateful  to  him  for  all  those  qualities  that 
were  no  merit  of  his  own,  no  credit  to  him,  only  lucky  gifts 
of  Nature. 

The  next  morning,  rising  early  in  the  cool  pure  dawn, 
with  the  pale  light  filling  the  silent  room,  she  felt  a  little 
annoyed  with  herself  for  her  emotions  of  the  night,  and  a 
little  vexed  with  the  causer  of  them.  She  dressed  herself 
hastily  and  went  down  to  her  work,  determined  to  think 
only  of  it;  but  when  she  had  crossed  the  yard  with  her  pails, 
and  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  cowhouse,  where  the  soft 
darkness  was  heavy  with  the  sweet  breath  of  the  kine,  and 
had  glanced  over  the  wooden  partitions  into  the  sections 
where  the  small  calves,  not  yet  separated  from  their  mothers, 
were  nestling  happily  at  their  sides,  a  great  rushing  realisa- 
tion of  Life  and  its  needs,  aims  and  powers,  came  over  her 
again.  She  sat  down  suddenly,  overwhelmed  and  feeling 
rather  sick  and  frightened,  in  the  close  darkness,  listening 
to  the  creatures  moving  in  the  hay  and  snuffing  close  beside 


40  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

her.  The  cowshed  ran  on  into  the  henhouse,  and  other 
sounds  reached  her  from  there;  the  triumphant  clucking  of 
a  hen  as  it  announced  the  most  important  event  in  its  life, 
and  then  a  hundred  little  creeping  notes  from  the  brood  of 
chickens  in  the  next  roost.  Lydia  did  not  get  up  to  look 
at  them  then,  but  she  knew  that  in  the  far  corner  of  the  shed 
there  was  a  family  of  small  blind  kittens,  recently  arrived, 
and  behind  a  hurdle,  there,  opposite,  a  white  kid  sucked 
strenuously  from  its  lean,  patient  mother.  All  this  realisation 
of  young  life  pushing  forward,  pressing  round  her,  seemed 
to  weigh  upon  her,  become  clear,  significant  to  her,  as  never 
before.  Was  this  then  the  message  of  Life,  was  this  its 
great  duty,  to  love,  to  be  loved,  to  mate,  to  reproduce  ?  Was 
Humanity  only  one  long  chain,  of  which  each  human  being 
was  a  link,  bound  to  keep  its  place  in  the  chain,  to  join  the 
link  behind  it  to  the  link  in  front,  and  if  it  broke  and  failed 
in  this,  was  it  to  be  counted  base  metal,  to  be  cast  aside  with 
things  for  which  there  is  no  use  ? 

Going  out  of  the  cowshed  after  the  milking,  with  her 
pails  full,  hanging  from  the  bar  across  her  shoulders,  she 
almost  ran  against  Bernard,  who  stood  before  her.  She 
started  and  trembled  violently,  so  that  the  milk  rippled  in 
the  pails. 

"I  must  speak  to  you,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "I  had  no 
chance  last  night,  and  I've  been  so  miserable." 

With  an  effort  the  girl  steadied,  straightened  herself, 
and  walked  past  him. 

"I  can't  listen  to  you,"  she  said,  without  turning  her 
head.  "We  are  just  under  the  farm  windows.  I  can't 
speak  to  you." 

"But  I  must  explain  about  last  night,"  he  persisted, 
hurriedly  walking  with  her.  "You  thought  perhaps  that 
I  meant  some  insult  to  you.  I  didn't,  Lydia  dearest,  really. 
I  have  something  particular  to  say  to  you.  Will  you  come 
to  that  hollow  in  the  orchard,  this  afternoon  after  dinner, 
by  the  spring  where  the  violets  grow?  I  will  wait  for  you 
there.  Do  come." 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  41 

Lydia  walked  on  in  silence.  They  were  close  to  the 
house  door  now. 

"I  have  something  special  I  must  say  to  you,"  he  repeated. 
"If  you  won't  come  to  the  hollow  I  shall  say  it  before  them 
all  at  dinner  to-day." 

Lydia  paled  a  little,  but  whether  in  apprehension  of  what 
he  was  going  to  say,  or  the  threatened  time  and  place  of 
saying  it,  was  not  apparent. 

'Very  well,  I  will  come  to  the  hollow,"  she  said  quietly, 
and  disappeared  with  her  pails  into  the  house. 

The  hollow  Bernard  had  appointed  for  their  meeting 
was  truly  a  lovely  place.  It  was  a  green  mossy  depression, 
a  soft-turfed  tiny  glade,  lying  on  the  farther  side  of  the  orchard, 
just  outside  the  low  brick  wall  that  had  there  crumbled  away. 
The  almond  trees  in  the  orchard  were  one  mass  of  pink, 
scented  bloom,  and  their  branches  stretched  far  over  the  wall, 
making  a  perfect  roof  of  stainless  blossom  to  the  hollow; 
on  the  other  side  farthest  from  the  orchard,  a  spring  of 
diamond  clear  water  rose  bubbling  through  the  moss,  and 
watering  innumerable  violet  beds  that  had  grown  up  by  it. 
To  this  hollow,  full  of  hushed,  sweet-scented,  shady  repose, 
Bernard  came,  directly  the  mid-day  meal  was  finished,  and 
flung  himself  heavily  on  the  moss  by  the  spring.  He  threw 
his  hat  down  beside  him,  little  lines  of  sweat  stood  on  his 
forehead,  and  his  eyes  and  lips  were  very  bright.  Minute 
after  minute  went  by,  a  white  petal  from  the  almond  trees 
above  floated  down  through  the  scented  air  from  time  to  time, 
otherwise  there  was  no  movement  in  the  hollow.  The  man 
lay  motionless  waiting. 

The  pink  bloom  of  the  almond  trees  was  shaken,  their 
branches  were  parted,  and  the  girl  appeared  suddenly  before 
him  Her  face  was  glowing  and  heated  from  her  quick 
walk  through  the  sunny  open  spaces  round  the  house,  her 
eyes  were  large  with  excitement,  and  her  full  red  lips  parted 
in  a  little  breathless  smile  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  He  had 
sprung  to  his  feet  and  taken  her  two  hands,  drawing  her 
towards  him 


42  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"What  did  you  want  to  say  to  me?"  she  asked,  her 
bosom  panting  quickly,  and  holding  her  body  rather  rigidly 
upright  and  away  from  him.  He  tried  to  draw  her  still 
closer  without  replying,  but  feeling  she  resented  it  he  seemed 
to  abandon  his  intention,  and  said  at  once,  simply  and 
seriously, — 

"  Lydia,  dearest,  will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

There  was  silence.  He  was  looking  at  her  but  she  would 
not  meet  his  eyes,  and  looked  anywhere  away  from  that 
bright,  eager,  penetrating  gaze.  She  hardly  thought  of  his 
question,  so  confused  and  anxious  she  felt  to  get  away  from 
him.  She  felt  oppressed  and  nervous,  overwhelmed  by 
his  great  form  so  near  her,  the  hold  on  her  hands,  the  stren- 
uous, eager  meaning  of  tone  and  glance,  all  kept  back,  it  is 
true,  but  overpowering  in  its  visible  pressure,  against  the 
restraint  he  put  on  it.  She  had  only  one  thought  now,  to 
escape.  She  tried  to  tear  her  hands  free  and  he  suddenly 
let  them  go  and  encircled  her  waist  instead.  She  stood  still, 
holding  herself  together,  not  touching  him,  her  eyes  turned 
away. 

"Do  let  us  marry  at  once,  do  say  'Yes,'  "  he  urged.  His 
strong  arms  were  round  her.  Nature  was  thrilling  all  through 
her,  pressing  her  to  accept,  to  begin  to  learn  some  of  the 
great  lessons  of  life.  His  warm  white  oval  face  was  just 
above  hers,  backed  by  the  delicious  almond  blossoms  that 
breathed  their  fragrance  upon  them.  Up  above,  far  out 
of  sight  in  the  blue  sky,  the  larks  trilled  a  madness  of 
song  into  the  hot  sunshine.  Here  in  the  hollow,  where  the 
grasses  were  cool  and  sweet,  there  seemed  a  great  impulse 
brooding  for  all  things  to  love  and  be  beloved.  Lydia 
struggled  against  it,  and  full  of  indecision  and  half  fear  tried 
to  draw  away,  but  he  held  her  tightly,  though  not  roughly, 
and  looking  up  she  could  not  fail  to  see  the  breadth  of  the 
shoulders,  the  size  of  the  powerful  chest,  the  strong  white 
neck  above  his  turned-down  shirt  collar,  and  the  bright, 
thick  brown  hair  on  his  head  bent  over  her,  where  the  sun 
showed  up  the  threads  of  red  and  gold.  It  was  all  charming 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  43 

and  pleasing  and  she  coveted  it.  She  had  the  same  sensa- 
tion now  as  when,  only  a  year  or  two  back,  she  had  coveted 
a  big  doll  she  had  seen  in  a  village  shop  window.  She  had 
longed  to  have  that  doll,  its  hair  and  eyes,  and  its  fat  stuffed 
body,  for  her  own,  and  she  felt  the  same  covetousness  now 
for  this  other  big  doll  of  rather  different  make  and  kind. 
But  as  before  the  doll  in  the  window  had  been  a  high  price  for 
her  resources,  so  now,  she  instinctively  felt,  this  was  an 
expensive  doll  too. 

So  she  strained  away  from  him,  full  of  frightened  uncer- 
tainty and  unwillingness,  which  had  the  effect  of  making 
the  man  more  strenuous,  eager,  determined  to  hold  her. 
How  lovely  she  was,  with  her  face  all  tremulous  fleeting 
blushes  and  smiles,  and  the  flickering  softened  light  falling 
through  the  almond  blossoms  above  them  on  to  it! 

"I  will  never  let  you  go  till  you  say  it,"  he  murmured, 
not  violently,  but  with  a  deep,  strange  new  note  in  his  voice. 
A  tone  that  was  unfamiliar  and  stirred  a  curious,  indefinable 
sense  of  delight  in  her.  She  longed — oh,  how  she  longed! — 
though  to  her  shy  experience  it  seemed  impossible  that  such 
a  thing  could  ever  happen,  to  throw  her  own  arms  tightly 
round  him,  to  press  her  bosom  close  to  the  broad  chest  above 
her,  to  feel  that  that  neck  was  hers  legitimately  to  clasp 
and  kiss,  to  know  that  she  need  no  longer  struggle  away  from 
those  arms  that  seemed  such  wonderful  things  to  her,  realising 
that  her  hand  could  not  span  their  great  girth  of  muscle 
above  the  elbow,  that  her  fingers  would  not  half  reach  round 
them.  She  had  only  to  say  "Yes,"  as  he  urged  her,  and  she 
could  have  this  wonderful  big  doll  and  the  joy  of  knowing 
it  hers.  As  a  child  she  had  finally  bought  her  doll  in  the 
shop,  and  run  all  the  way  home  with  it,  squeezing  its  fat 
body  in  her  hot,  eager  fingers  with  an  awful  sense  of  delight; 
she  had  always  remembered  those  first  moments  of  the  toy's 
possession  with  pleasure,  and  she  divined  that  here  possession 
meant  some  still  more  mysteriously  enchanting  joys. 

Impatient  at  her  silence,  Chetwynd  tightened  his  arms 
about  her  waist  and  gave  them  a  little  jerk.  Her  face  paled 


44  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

and  her  lips  parted.  Nature  was  helping  the  man  in  his 
appeal  all  she  could,  but,  fenced  about  with  innocence  as 
the  girl  was,  Nature's  voice  could  only  reach  dully  to  her 
ears. 

Suddenly,  just  as  formerly  she  had  rushed  passionately 
into  the  shop,  paid  the  necessary  price  and  carried  off  the 
toy,  she  looked  up  at  him.  There  was  a  great  leaping  in  her 
heart,  a  great  bending  of  all  her  impulses  to  one. 

"Will  you  let  me  go  if  I  say  'Yes'  ?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  will  give  me  one  kiss  of  your  own  free  will  first." 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  while  her  face  grew  very  white 
and  her  eyes  afraid.  Then,  as  he  bent  his  head  lower,  she 
put  her  lips  up,  and  for  less  than  a  second  they  just  brushed 
his  smooth  cheek.  It  seemed  the  most  wonderful,  delight- 
ful and  alarming  thing  that  she  had  ever  done,  when  that 
beautiful  face  came  down  so  close  to  hers,  under  the  pink 
and  white  blossoms,  and  the  touch  of  the  soft  skin  raised  a 
sudden  storm  of  unexplainable  feelings:  she  pressed  her 
hands  down  violently  on  his  arms,  and  forced  them  apart, 
as,  true  to  his  promise,  he  allowed  her  to  do,  and  she  broke 
from  him  and  ran  from  the  hollow,  out  into  the  sunshine 
where  the  larks  were  still  trilling,  and  the  bees  humming 
in  the  honey  cups,  and  the  butterflies  chasing  each  other  as 
they  rollicked  over  the  flowers,  and  a  thousand  sweet  scents 
were  rising  from  the  amorous  plants,  from  the  crushed  grasses 
and  the  sap-distilling  larches  and  resinous  firs,  filling  the 
still  air  with  the  riotous  breath  of  Life. 


CHAPTER  H 

IT  was  a  blue  and  gold  summer  that  year  at  the  English 
Lakes.  The  heat  came  early  and  increased  with  each  long 
lovely  day,  that  stretched  its  golden  light  farther  and  farther 
into  the  mauve  shadows  of  the  evening.  The  earth  responded 
eagerly  to  the  unaccustomed  fervour  of  the  sun,  and  the 
young  corn  began  to  spring  merrily  in  the  fields,  the  slim, 
straight  grass  shot  up  in  the  hay  meadows,  the  elms  burst 
into  a  mass  of  tender  green,  the  fruit  trees  were  one  great 
sea  of  pink  and  white  blooms  round  the  farm,  and  their 
perfume  hung  in  the  soft  spring  air  and  filled  the  delicate 
dusk  of  the  warm  evenings  with  a  dangerous  intoxication. 
Anderson's  Farm,  with  its  many  orchards  of  peach  and  apple, 
plum  and  cherry,  divided  from  each  other  by  narrow  grassy, 
mossy  lanes  between  the  low  brick  walls,  where  the  spark- 
ling sunlight  tumbled  through  the  brilliant  green  of  the  inter- 
lacing leaves  and  the  snow-white  blooms  on  to  the  soft  carpeted 
path  beneath;  with  its  flower  garden  back  and  front  crowded 
with  flowers  and  filled  with  perfume,  and  furnished  with  the 
double  line  of  yellow  beehives  against  the  sunny  wall :  Ander- 
son's Farm  with  its  projecting  eaves  and  quaint  angles,  its 
beautiful  roof  red  and  gold  and  grey  with  lichen  and  covered 
in  places  by  torrents  of  roses,  blush,  and  pink  and  white, 
mingled  with  cascades  of  wistaria  and  screens  of  starry  jas- 
mine: Anderson's  Farm,  lying  somewhat  in  a  hollow  with 
its  back  against  the  green  sugar-loaf  mountain  of  Patterdale 
and  surrounded  by  whispering  fragrant  lime  trees,  was  a 
spot  of  beauty,  and  many  artists  and  poets  while  touring 
through  the  district  had  been  led  off  the  high  road  to  stop 
and  gaze  upon  it.  Lydia,  sensitive,  observant,  and  singu- 

45 


46  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

larlj  open  to  and  receptive  of  impressions,  had  always  seen 
and  loved  the  beauty  round  her.  It  had  consoled  her  for 
much  that  was  hard  and  painful  in  her  daily  life.  Some- 
times in  the  early  spring  evenings,  when  the  children  had  been 
put  to  bed  and  her  work  was  done,  she  would  slip  out  from 
the  hot  kitchen  and  run  bareheaded  down  to  the  orchards 
and  there  walk  slowly  up  and  down  those  fragrant  green 
alley  ways  where  her  feet  fell  silently  on  the  moss  and  the 
tender,  pale  spring  twilight  under  the  young  leaves  seemed 
full  of  soothing  comfort.  Up  and  down  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  walk  with  a  strange  beating  of  the  heart  and  her 
face  uplifted  to  the  unfolding  blooms  above  her,  wondering 
what  great  thing  Life  held  for  her.  But  after  that  meeting 
in  the  hollow  everything  seemed,  not  transformed,  but  inten- 
sified. New  senses  seemed  to  have  been  given  her,  quicker 
and  keener  than  her  former  ones.  All  that  had  appealed 
to  her  before  appealed  to  her  so  much  more  strongly  now,  and 
the  pleasure  that  some  of  the  sights  and  sounds  and  scents 
round  her  gave  was  now  so  acute  it  became  almost  a  sort  of 
pain.  And  yet  that  pain  again  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  joy. 
The  scent  of  the  limes  now  as  she  ran  up  the  alleys  between 
the  orchards  filled  her  with  strange  ecstasies  of  feeling  till  she 
thought  her  heart  was  bursting.  The  gleam  of  the  sunlight, 
the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  tints  of  all  the  flowers  and  butterflies 
and  birds  round  herweremore  brilliant,  glorified, till  it  seemed 
as  if  she  looked  at  everything  through  a  glittering  veil  hung 
before  her  eyes.  She  ceased  to  wonder  if  Life  held  any 
great  thing  for  her.  She  was  content.  The  great  thing  had 
happened.  This  large,  powerful,  handsome  being  that  moved 
about  in  the  farm,  and  that  everyone  considered  and  made 
way  for,  was  hers,  belonged  to  her,  loved  her.  She  rested 
content  in  that  thought.  That  no  one  knew  it  nor  recognised 
it  did  not  trouble  her  in  the  least.  That  rather  enhanced 
the  new  secret,  wonderful  charm  of  it  all.  At  present  she 
wished  for  nothing  better  and  asked  for  no  change  in  the  sit- 
uation. She  was  too  young  yet  to  be  anxious  for  the  reality 
of  love:  the  idea,  the  theory  of  it,  the  mental  intoxication 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  47 

that  it  brings  with  it  were  enough  for  her  and  enchanted  her. 
She  did  not  really  covet  Bernard's  kiss:  in  fact  the  kiss  itself 
rather  frightened  her  and  she  fled  from  opportunities  for  it, 
but  the  thought  that  he  desired  it  so  much,  the  knowledge 
of  that  strange  fire  burning  in  him,  that  made  him  gaze  so 
hungrily  at  her  when  he  saw  her  gave  her  an  alarmed  and 
fearful  joy  and  a  nameless  pleasure  which  she  hugged  to 
herself  all  day  and  carried  into  her  dreams  at  night.  At  her 
work,  when  she  was  washing  the  dishes,  or  at  any  of  her  other 
duties,  she  was  recalling  those  looks  and  the  eager  fire  of 
those  glances,  and  in  those  lonely  mental  exercises  she  really 
found  more  pleasure  than  in  the  glances  themselves.  The 
thought  that  Bernard  was  so  anxious  to  meet  her  by  the  or- 
chard wall  under  the  limes  in  the  long  mauve  sweet-scented 
evening  gave  her  such  pleasure  that  she  contentedly  saw  the 
long  evening  itself  wear  slowly,  emptily  to  its  close,  while  she 
was  kept  inside  the  house  stitching  and  mending  and  ironing 
at  the  table.  She  did  not  know  where  Bernard  was,  but 
she  knew  that  wherever  he  was  he  was  restlessly  longing  for 
her  to  be  beside  him,  to  see  her,  touch  her,  and  this  knowledge 
made  her  supremely  content  and  satisfied,  and  at  the  end  of 
a  long,  tedious  evening  sent  her  to  bed  happy. 

But  with  Bernard  things  were  very  different,  there  was 
no  content,  no  satisfaction  at  present.  He  was  after  all  to 
be  the  main  mover  in  carrying  out  her  designs,  so  Nature 
drove  the  passion  deep  into  him  like  a  great  spur  fixed  in 
his  side  and  there  was  no  rest  and  no  escape  from  it.  On 
the  day  when  he  had  met  the  girl  in  the  hollow  he  had  had 
no  opportunity  to  speak  with  her  again.  Tea-time  had  come, 
when  all  the  family  were  present;  after  tea  she  had  been 
occupied  with  the  children,  giving  them  their  lessons  and 
putting  them  to  bed.  At  supper  again  all  the  household 
were  gathered  in  the  kitchen,  and  afterwards,  according  to 
her  habit,  she  slipped  gently  off  to  bed.  Bernard,  knowing 
this,  had  gone  to  his  room  too  immediately  on  finishing 
supper,  and  there  had  sat  in  the  dark  with  his  door  open, 
hoping  to  intercept  her  as  she  passed  up  the  stairs.  Pres- 


48  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

* 

ently  he  heard  the  quick,  springing  step  and  rushed  to  the 
door,  but  the  girl  had  shot  past  and  he  only  saw  the  blue 
cotton  skirt  disappearing  up  the  dark  and  narrow  stairway. 
The  blood  went  to  his  head  and  he  called  her  name  in  a  whis- 
per; but  no  answer  came  back,  and  the  shrill,  clacking  tones 
of  Mrs  Anderson  talking  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  below  warned 
him  to  check  the  impulse  to  follow  after  the  light,  bounding 
figure  on  its  way  to  the  attic.  He  went  back  into  his  room, 
closed  the  door,  and  took  a  seat  by  his  open  window.  His 
hand,  tightly  clenched,  lay  upon  the  sill.  The  soft  twilight 
gathered  without  under  the  limes  and  a  delicious  cool  sweet 
air  came  in  and  touched  his  hot  forehead;  the  small  white 
night  moths  fluttered  in,  and  once  a  bat  skimmed  past  him, 
made  the  circle  of  his  room,  and  flew  out.  He  sat  quite  still 
without  moving,  and  graduallly  the  sounds  without  and  within 
sank  into  silence.  Steps  moved  about  for  a  time  and  there 
was  the  sound  of  closing  windows  and  doors  and  bolts  being 
shot:  then  these  died  away  into  nothingness.  By  half -past 
nine  deep  silence  if  not  sleep  enfolded  the  whole  farm.  The 
Andersons,  with  Bella  and  the  younger  children,  slept  on  the 
floor  beneath  his  room,  and  some  other  empty  ones  occupied 
the  next  landing,  and  from  this  a  narrow  staircase  led  up  to 
servants'  rooms  and  the  attic  round  which  all  his  thoughts 
were  concentrated.  The  proposition  that  kept  thrusting 
itself  before  him,  though  he  resolutely  pushed  it  away,  was 
how  easy  it  would  be  with  silent  feet  to  find  his  way  up  those 
narrow  stairs  to  her  door,  now  that  all  the  house  was  wrapped 
in  its  heavy  bucolic  sleep,  but  he  knew  it  would  be  useless. 
The  girl  would  not  open  the  door  nor  even  whisper  to  him 
through  it.  He  was  a  fair  judge  of  character  and  he  saw 
that  however  soft-hearted  the  girl  might  be,  and  however 
warm  and  passionate  her  nature,  she  was,  at  present  at  least, 
almost  fiercely  hard  where  her  honour  was  concerned.  He 
saw  clearly  he  would  obtain  nothing  from  her  till  he  had  put 
himself  in  a  position  where  he  could  demand  it,  and  then 
there  would  be  no  need  to  demand,  she  would  yield  herself 
passionately,  then — he  got  up  from  the  window  and  walked 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  49 

nervously  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  room.  There 
was  only  one  way  to  get  that  spur  out  of  his  side  and  it  was 
cutting  him  horribly  just  then,  driving  him  on  headlong 
whatever  the  obstacles  before  him.  He  lived  over  again 
those  few  minutes  in  the  hollow.  How  exquisitely  fresh 
and  untouched,  like  the  almond  bloom  itself,  she  had  looked 
as  he  held  her,  and  what  a  hot  blush  had  burnt  her  cheek  as 
she  just  brushed  her  lips  against  him,  at  his  demand,  how 
she  had  struggled  and  at  last  had  broken  away  from  him! 
The  room  seemed  stifling  him  as  he  walked  and  he  went  to 
the  window  again,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  sill  and  putting 
his  head  out  into  the  still  air.  How  the  pulses  beat  round  his 
temples  and  the  bright  brown  hair  grew  damp  on  his  forehead. 
The  difficulties  were  not  insuperable  but  still  the  position 
needed  some  thinking  over.  Firstly  he  had,  on  coming  to 
the  farm,  paid  over  a  premium  to  Anderson  and  so  secured 
his  board  and  lodging  for  some  months;  he  foresaw  now  that 
if  he  married  the  girl  openly  and  took  her  away  with  him 
there  would  be  some  unpleasantness  to  face,  including  the 
loss  of  the  premium.  He  would  then  have  to  find  money 
again  for  the  board  and  lodging  of  two  people  until  he  saw 
his  way  to  providing  two  passages  and  making  their  start 
for  America.  Again  the  very  marriage  itself  presented,  as 
usual,  some  difficulties.  If  they  adopted  the  common 
people's  way  of  publishing  the  banns  for  three  weeks  before- 
hand there  would  be  no  small  opposition  to  fight  against. 
The  girl  would  certainly  be  dismissed  from  her  situation; 
where  would  she  go  ?  and  how  would  she  live  for  that  time  ? 
and  to  his  distorted  vision  at  that  moment  three  weeks 
seemed  like  three  years.  In  that  interval  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  someone  or  some  circumstance  might  contrive  to  take 
her  from  him.  Then  again  a  secret  marriage  before  a 
registrar,  always  quoted  as  so  simple,  he  believed  meant  a 
residence  for  one  of  them  hi  the  registrar's  district  for  the 
interminable  period  of  fifteen  days.  There  seemed  only  the 
one  way  left  of  marriage  by  license.  This  was  very  ex- 
pensive and  would  hamper  him  later  on,  but  it  was  the  only 
4 


60  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

one  that  would  give  her  to  him  immediately,  and  of  course 
in  his  present  frame  of  mind  that  way  was  the  way  chosen 
and  decided  on.  He  had  a  small  yearly  income  and  the 
half-yearly  dividend  would  be  due  in  a  few  days.  He  had 
intended  to  leave  this  as  a  resource  for  the  fare  out  West, 
but  no  matter,  he  would  find  a  means  of  providing  for  that 
later.  To-morrow  he  would  go  up  to  London,  get  a  few 
things  he  needed,  draw  the  money  on  the  day  it  was  due, 
and  come  back  with  the  license  in  his  pocket.  Then  it 
would  be  easy — surely  they  could  find  some  opportunity  to 
be  married  without  anyone  interfering,  without  anyone 
even  knowing.  Why  should  anyone  know  it  ?  The  thought 
occurred  to  him  suddenly  and  struck  him  with  strange 
pleasure.  To  be  married  secretly  where  they  were,  at 
Patterdale,  was  of  course  impossible,  but  Keswick  was  only 
ten  miles  off  by  the  mountain  pass,  buried  over  there  in 
that  purple  basin  of  hills.  They  could  go  there,  be  married, 
and  return.  If  they  were  careful  no  one  need  discover  their 
secret.  They  could  keep  it  till  he  was  ready  to  start  for 
America  and  in  this  way  much  expense  would  be  saved. 
Once  his  wife,  she  would  be  his,  she  would  belong  to  him. 
It  there  were  still  difficulties  in  their  path  they  would  matter 
very  little.  There  were  some  opportunities  for  them  to  be 
together  at  the  farm,  but  as  matters  now  stood  the  girl  would 
not  accept  them.  She  would  not  meet  him  at  night — but  if 
they  were  married  she  would  lose  her  fear  of  him.  Their 
love  would  laugh  at  bolts  and  bars  then.  He  began  to  pace 
his  room  again,  thinking  over  the  details  of  his  now  fixed 
plan.  Somewhere  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house  a  clock 
struck  twelve,  but  he  was  still  restlessly  walking  up  and 
down.  He  drank  a  glass  of  water  from  his  washing-stand, 
sat  down  to  his  table  and  wrote  a  couple  of  letters  to  Amer- 
ica, and  then,  just  before  the  dawn,  flung  himself  on  his  bed 
and  fell  into  a  fitful,  tossing  sleep.  Upstairs  above  him 
the  girl  lay  wrapped  in  a  tranquil  slumber,  pressing  the 
pillow  to  her  rosy  cheek  and  dreaming  happily,  innocently  of 
him,  with  a  contented  smile  on  her  lips. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  51 

The  next  morning  he  was  late,  as  might  be  expected,  and 
when  he  came  downstairs  he  found  the  family  had  already 
breakfasted  and  gone  and  the  kitchen  was  empty.  There 
was  a  good  fire  in  the  grate  and  a  kettle  singing  on  it,  and  his 
breakfast  was  left  ready  for  him  at  one  end  of  the  table. 
The  room  was  full  of  sun,  and  the  balmy  summer  air  laden 
with  the  scent  of  flowers  and  the  hum  of  bees  floated  in 
through  the  half -open  door  from  the  kitchen  garden.  Ber- 
nard looked  round,  wondered  where  the  girl  was,  and  then 
stirred  the  fire  and  made  his  tea.  As  he  was  sitting  at  the 
table  drinking  it,  and  looking  through  the  window  with  rather 
heavy  eyes,  the  door  from  the  scullery  was  pushed  open  and 
Lydia  came  into  the  kitchen  with  a  pile  of  plates  in  her  arms. 
Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up,  for  she  had  been  washing  the 
breakfast  things,  and  her  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbows. 
Such  arms!  Small  at  the  wrist  but  so  round  and  plump 
above  and  milky  white  like  her  throat.  She  smiled  as  she 
saw  him  and  said  good-morning  as  she  passed  him,  going 
towards  the  dresser.  Bernard  gazed  at  her  with  his  heart 
beating :  a  beam  of  sun  caught  the  side  of  her  head  and  burned 
in  a  red-gold  curl  of  her  dark  hair  and  slanted  across  the  rosy 
down  of  her  cheek.  She  was  dressed  in  a  cheap  white  print 
dress  with  little  pink  sprigs  over  it,  and  her  hair  fell  in  a 
thick  soft  plait  down  her  back  to  her  waist.  She  put  away 
her  plates  deftly  in  the  drawer  and  then  came  over  to  the 
table. 

"Have  you  all  you  want  for  breakfast?"  she  asked. 
"I  laid  it  ready  for  you.  You  look  very  tired  this  morning," 
she  added,  noticing  his  white  face  and  his  bloodshot  eyes 
that  blinked  in  the  hot  sunshine. 

"Yes,  I  was  awake  all  night  thinking,"  Bernard  answered, 
watching  her  with  a  keen,  devouring  gaze  as  she  stood  for 
a  moment  before  him,  delicious  in  all  her  pink-and- white 
morning  freshness. 

"What  were  you  thinking  about?"  she  asked. 

"About  you." 

Lydia  coloured.     "Does  that  make  you  so  tired  ?" 


52  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

At  that  moment,  before  he  had  time  to  answer,  the  door 
behind  him  was  pushed  open  and  Bella  Anderson  came  in. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  long  merino  gown,  long  to  the  ground, 
after  the  town  fashion,  and  wore  a  large  new  straw  hat, 
trimmed  with  bright  red  ribbon,  that  accorded  ill  with  her 
red  hair,  and  she  had  in  her  hand  a  large  bunch  of  early  spring 
flowers,  evidently  just  taken  from  the  garden.  She  came  up 
to  the  table  and  Lydia  drew  back  at  once.  It  is  easy  to 
give  place  and  way  to  a  rival  of  whom  you  have  not  any 
fear. 

"Nice  flowers,  aren't  they?"  Bella  remarked,  sitting 
down  opposite  Chetwynd.  "I  gathered  them  for  you,"  she 
continued  rather  shamefacedly,  and  then  pushing  them 
across  the  table,  added  still  more  uncouthly,  "  You  can  have 
'em.  Put  'em  in  you  room." 

Bernard  took  the  flowers. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  frankly.  "It's  very  kind  of  you. 
What  a  sweet  scent  they  have."  He  smelt  the  flowers  and 
then  laid  them  down  beside  him  and  continued  his  break- 
fast. 

Bella  watched  him  a  few  seconds  in  silence:  then  she 
turned  round  sharply  in  her  chair  to  Lydia.  "What  are  you 
doing  standing  there,  Lydia,  there's  piles  and  piles  of  things 
wants  washing  in  the  scullery." 

Lydia  moved  away  at  once  in  the  direction  of  the  scullery, 
and  Bernard,  mad  at  having  his  girl  ordered  away  in  this 
fashion,  sprang  to  his  feet  from  his  unfinished  breakfast. 
"Are  there  so  many  things?"  he  said  sharply.  "All  right, 
I'll  come  and  help  you  wash  up." 

Bella  rose  from  the  table,  her  face  paling  angrily 
beneath  her  freckles,  and  slipped  between  Bernard  and  the 
open  scullery  door.  "Lor'  no,  Mr  Chetwynd,  don't  you 
mind  the  things.  Ma  told  me  to  take  you  over  this  morning 
to  Simpson's,  they've  got  a  new  hay  cutter  there  that  pa 
thinks  you  ought  to  see." 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  facing  him,  with  her  back  to  Lydia. 
Bernard,  looking  over  her  head,  met  an  appealing  glance 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  53 

from  those  wonderfully  expressive  eyes  behind  her.  Under 
their  arched,  soft-lashed  lids  they  said  as  plainly  as  words, 
"Do  go,  pray  go  with  her,  go,  go." 

Bernard  hesitated  a  minute,  choking  down  his  annoy- 
ance, but  the  eyes  were  resistless. 

He  turned  suddenly. 

"All  right,  Miss  Anderson,  I'll  come.  I'll  just  get  my 
hat,"  and  he  swung  out  of  the  kitchen  and  upstairs  to  his 
room,  leaving  Bella's  bouquet  lying  on  the  table. 

"You  little  cat  /"  remarked  Bella,  with  vicious  emphasis, 
as  Lydia  went  silently  to  the  pile  of  crockery,  and  she  slammed 
the  scullery  door  to  and  then  walked  back  to  the  table,  where 
she  picked  up  the  neglected  flowers  and  sat  sniffing  at  them 
discontentedly. 

That  afternoon  Bernard  withdrew  from  the  family 
society  and  remained  up  in  his  own  room.  He  emptied  out 
one  of  his  bags,  put  in  a  few  necessaries,  looked  up  the  trains 
to  London,  put  his  room  in  good  order,  and  then  sat  down 
by  the  open  window  and  gazed  out  meditatively. 

The  next  morning  he  announced  he  was  going  up  to 
town  for  a  few  days  on  business,  and  caught  the  first  coach 
running  through  Patterdale  to  take  him  over  to  Keswick, 
where  he  could  get  the  train.  There  had  been  no  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  the  girl  or  make  any  leavetaking,  which 
filled  Bernard  with  a  sullen,  smouldering  wrath,  but  just  as 
he  turned  out  of  the  front  garden  gate  with  his  bag  in  his  hand, 
he  looked  up  at  the  window  in  the  deep  gable  of  the  roof. 
It  was  open  and  Lydia  put  her  head  forward.  The  sunlight 
sparkled  on  her  rich,  vine-like  tendrils  of  glossy  hair,  and  the 
green  leaves  of  the  creeper  made  a  frame  for  the  sweet,  pro- 
vocative face.  Bernard  stood  still,  rooted  to  the  spot,  gazing 
at  the  bloom  and  beauty  above  him  and  feeling  a  furious 
impulse  to  dash  into  the  house  again,  up  the  stairs  and  take 
her  in  his  arms. 

Reading  this  in  his  upturned  face,  the  girl  was  quite 
satisfied  and  withdrew  into  the  room  with  a  little  laugh. 
Bernard  had  to  go  on:  the  coach  was  waiting.  And  he 


54  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

went,  with  a  tumultuous  storm  of  angry,  violent,  thwarted 
passion  raging  in  his  breast.  The  girl  upstairs  buried  her 
face  for  a  moment  in  her  pillow,  feeling  as  if  his  kisses  were 
burning  on  it,  and  then  went  about  her  work  supremely 
content  and  happy. 


CHAPTER  HI 

THE  evening  sunlight  fell  and  lay  upon  the  landscape  like  a 
golden  veil:  the  air  was  very  still.  The  little  village,  a  col- 
lection of  grey-roofed  cottages,  nestled  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  hills  towering  over  it  and  holding  purple  light  over  and 
among  their  peaks.  Lower  down  on  the  rich  undulating 
slopes  the  cattle  lay,  in  the  long  slanting  shadows  cast  by 
the  larch  trees  in  the  copses  on  the  ridge. 

The  side  door  of  the  farmhouse  clicked  and  Lydia 
slipped  out  into  the  still,  golden  evening.  Her  heart  beat 
joyfully.  Her  whole  body  thrilled  as  she  felt  the  light  on  her 
face  and  smelt  the  sweet,  hot  scent  of  the  grass.  She  gave 
one  swift  glance  round  her  and  then  ran  down  the  path, 
catching  up  her  blue  cotton  skirt  as  she  ran.  She  had  never 
felt  so  happy,  her  feet  had  never  had  such  wings  as  on  this 
early  summer  evening  when  she  stepped  into  the  soft  hot  air 
laden  with  the  scent  of  sweet  flowering  grasses.  The  air 
was  full  of  light,  the  sky  was  all  gold;  looking  up  through 
the  heavy,  drooping,  tent-like  leaves  she  saw  the  white 
pyramid  of  the  horse-chestnut  blossom  glow  whitely  against 
it;  soft,  ardent  trills  from  hidden  birds  gushed  out  from 
every  hedge  and  bush,  the  spirit  of  the  summer  night  seemed 
to  breathe  upon  her  cheek,  her  heart  was  leaping,  expectancy 
seemed  in  all  her  blood,  something  seemed  calling  her, 
awaiting  her  beyond  those  deep-leaved,  protecting  horse- 
chestnut  trees.  She  was  in  those  glorious  moments  of  youth 
when  nothing  lies  behind  and  nothing  is  known,  but  in  front 
there  is  the  shining  mystery  of  Life,  all  veiled,  uncertain 
and  obscure,  yet  dazzling,  calling.  As  yet  she  knew  nothing, 
and  all  that  surrounded  her  seemed  in  tender,  silent  con- 

55 


56  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

spiracy  against  her,  keeping  the  secret  that  she  too  soon  would 
know.  Those  little  birds  singing  so  passionately  beside  her, 
they  knew  it;  the  blooms,  the  white  pyramids  of  bloom 
above  her  head  distilling  their  fragrance  in  the  dreamy  air, 
they  knew  it;  the  bright  rosy  clouds,  the  sleepily-folding 
flowers,  the  tiny  squeaking  bats,  the  dancing  mayflies  beneath 
the  young  green  lime  trees,  they  knew  it.  For  Love 
is  Life,  and  Life  is  Love,  and  to  know  one  is  to  know  the  other, 
and  to  be  ignorant  of  one  is  to  be  ignorant  of  the  other, 
though  a  man  have  all  the  book-learning  of  the  ages  in  his 
brain.  She  felt  happy,  she  was  on  the  edge  of  the  great  secret. 
A  joyous  wonder,  a  delight  ran  through  her  with  each  quick- 
ened breath  as  she  went  onward  amidst  the  tender  mysteries 
of  the  summer  night.  Just  at  the  end  of  the  horse  chestnuts 
she  came  under  a  magnificent  cherry  tree.  It  was  one  mass 
of  snowy  pink-tipped  bloom,  and  looking  up,  the  girl  saw  it 
against  the  warm  gold  of  the  sky  beyond  and  paused,  her 
heart  filled  with  rapture.  For  she  was  an  aesthete ,  born, 
and  in  every  sense,  and  beauty  always  called  to  her,  in  a 
commanding  tone,  to  worship.  The  perfect,  stainless  pink 
and  white  blossoms  against  the  radiant  golden  sky  enchanted 
her,  she  stood  still  gazing  at  the  height  and  size  and  beauty 
of  the  tree  and  drinking  in  the  loveliness  of  the  picture. 
Now  she  understood  all  that  the  romances  she  had  read  had 
told  her — and  so  much  more.  Why  had  they  made  so  little 
of  love  ?  it  was  absurd.  There  could  not  be  more  difference 
between  being  in  and  out  of  life  itself  than  there  was  between 
being  in  and  out  of  love.  This  wonderful  surging  wave  of  joy 
rising  up  in  all  her  veins  was  something  more  than  life  itself. 
Some  days  had  passed  since  Bernard  had  come  back 
from  town  and  she  had  hardly  had  a  word  with  him,  but 
what  days  they  had  been!  She  had  sped  lightly  through 
her  work,  hardly  conscious  of  it,  and  the  glance  of  his  eyes 
when  they  met  hers,  as  they  said  good-night,  seemed  to 
follow  her  up  the  narrow  stairs  and  remain  with  her  all  night 
glowing  in  the  darkness.  She  had  had  little  sleep  and  little 
food  and  somehow  had  seemed  to  need  neither. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  57 

Bernard  was  to  wait  for  her  by  the  old  church — they  had 
thought  the  orchard  too  near  home — and  as  she  crossed  the 
last  field,  full  of  weeds  in  flower,  she  saw  his  large  form 
against  the  grey  moss-covered  wall.  Her  heart  beat  sud- 
denly to  suffocation  and  she  slackened  her  pace.  She  did 
not  wish  him  to  see  her  so  hot  and  excited.  So  at  last,  walk- 
ing slowly,  she  emerged  from  the  edge  of  the  field  where  the 
larches  threw  a  cool  deep  shadow.  Bernard  took  her  hand 
in  his  but  did  not  stoop  over  her  and  attempt  to  kiss  her 
as  she  vaguely  expected,  but  said  merely,  as  they  turned  to 
walk  beside  the  wall, — 

"I  am  glad  you've  come — it  seemed  a  long  time." 

"I  came  when  I  could,"  she  answered,  a  little  coldly, 
hurt  by  his  restrained  manner.  "You  don't  want  me  par- 
ticularly, do  you?"  she  added  rather  pointedly. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  have  something  particular  to  show  you," 
and  he  put  his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
folded  paper. 

Lydia  forgot  her  little  chagrin. 

"Is  it  a  dress  pattern  ?"  she  asked  eagerly,  walking  closer 
to  his  side  so  that  the  soft-haired  head  almost  brushed  his 
shoulder.  She  thought  suddenly  he  had  perhaps  brought 
something  back  for  her  from  town. 

Bernard  laughed  shortly.  There  was  something  a  little 
hard  in  the  laugh  and  the  mocking  tone  in  which  he  answered, 
"Yes,  it's  a  dress  pattern!  Lydia,  it's  a  marriage  license — 
this  enables  us  to  be  married  at  once,  do  you  see.  I  am  sorry 
I  could  not  bring  you  a  pretty  ring  as  I  wanted,  but  the 
license  and  the  wedding  ring  took  all  the  money  I  had." 
He  paused  suddenly.  The  girl  had  stopped  and  was  staring 
at  him;  her  face  was  quite  white  in  the  golden  light  and  her 
bosom  rose  and  fell  convulsively.  She  was  surprised,  aston- 
ished, her  breath  was  taken  away  literally  so  that  she  could 
not  answer  him. 

"Why — why  do  you  want  us  to  marry  so  soon?"  she 
stammered,  looking  at  him,  and  as  in  the  hollow,  the  terror 
of  this  unknown  thing  seemed  to  stare  at  her  out  of  the 


68  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

yellow  sunshine  all  round  them.  That  and  the  same  odd 
delight  it  brought  with  it  hammered  and  tugged  at  her  heart. 
All  the  hesitation  women  feel  at  that  last  moment,  before 
they  enter  Life's  vast  shop  to  make  their  first  purchase, 
was  upon  her.  That  question  that  faces  them  all  so  grimly, 
Suppose  she  wanted  to  buy  something  else  later  on?  faced 
her  and  caused  her  hesitation,  though  she  herself  did  not 
know  the  cause. 

"We  are  so  happy  as  we  are,  can't  we  go  on  like  this  ?" 

The  eternal  woman's  appeal  to  the  man:  eternally  an- 
swered in  the  negative. 

"No,  we  can't,"  Bernard  answered  decisively.  "I 
could  not  see  you  and  meet  you  secretly  like  this  unless  you 
will  marry  me." 

"But  why  not?     I  don't  see,"  persisted  Lydia. 

"Never  mind,  don't  let's  trouble  to  discuss  it,"  he  said. 
"I  can't,  that's  why  I  got  the  license  and  everything — why 
should  you  be  so  upset,  dearest,  you  promised  me  you 
would." 

Looking  up  she  was  struck  by  the  strange  white,  repressed 
look  on  his  face,  in  which  the  eyes  seemed  kindling. 

"I  did  not  say  when,"  she  retorted,  with  a  sulky  little 
smile. 

"No,  but  you  will  now:  say  to-morrow  or  the  next  day, 
do,  dearest,  you  must  say  it,"  and  then  suddenly  he  flung 
his  arm  round  her  waist,  drew  her  against  him  and  kissed 
her. 

Lydia  questioned  his  decision,  his  judgment,  his  reasons 
no  longer;  her  apprehensions  were  quick  and  she  learnt  much 
from  the  kiss,  which  left  her  white,  dazed  and  trembling. 
She  slipped  her  arm  softly  into  his  for  support  and  they  went 
on  for  a  few  steps  in  silence. 

The  light  was  softening,  mellowing,  and  delicious  rosy 
blushes  were  stealing  into  the  sky,  the  shadows  by  the  copse 
were  a  tender  violet,  and  a  cool  sweetness  stole  out  from  them. 

Lydia  walked  on  languidly,  thinking  life  was  an  ecstatic 
thing.  Her  indecision  was  over,  she  ceased  to  struggle,  she 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  59 

would  leave  it  all  to  him,  he  must  settle,  manage,  arrange  it 
all  as  he  would.  She  would  give  herself  to  him  and  let  him 
do  with  her  what  he  would.  It  was  nothing  wrong,  nothing 
dishonourable  that  he  asked  of  her.  It  was  a  new  strange 
wonderful  thing  this  to  come  jumping  into  one's  life  so  sud' 
denly,  this  pleasure  and  excitement,  this  acquiring  of  a  great 
live,  strong,  restless  human  being  and  having  it  belong 
to  one  and  belonging  to  it,  but  there  was  absolutely  nothing 
wrong  in  it,  since  husbands  were  things  most  women  had 
and  there  was  no  one  who  could  possibly  blame  her.  It  is 
not  to  every  nature  that  stolen  kisses  are  the  sweetest.  To 
Lydia,  young,  open-minded  and  guiltless,  the  least  suspicion 
of  dishonour  would  have  swept  away  the  whole  of  her  hap- 
piness, but  as  it  was  she  could  abandon  herself  to  the  strange 
new  joy  and  let  it  carry  her  forward  where  it  would.  Influ- 
enced by  this  feeling  she  walked  on  in  silence,  she  asked  no 
question  and  made  no  remark.  She  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  of  how  they  could  be  married  or  where  or  when,  but 
she  supposed  if  he  wished  it  he  would  arrange  it  somehow. 
She  drank  in  the  deep  sweet  peace  of  the  summer  evening, 
the  scent  of  dew  from  the  fields,  and  the  sense  of  the  mystery 
of  life  going  on  all  round  her:  she  was  elated  for  now  she 
was  entering  it  too.  She  had  never  walked  down  a  narrow 
twilight  lane  where  the  field  flowers  were  folding  up  in  the 
hedges  and  the  sky  was  growing  rosy  overhead  with  her  arm 
resting  in  a  man's  arm  before.  The  birds  were  twittering 
fussily  as  they  nestled  down  together  and  small  animals 
rustled  through  the  grass.  She  did  not  envy  them  now,  as 
she  had  often  done  lately,  their  happy  companionship,  their 
small,  soft  mates.  All  that  was  settled  and  she  watched 
the  tender,  pinky  twilight  gather  with  contented  eyes. 

Bernard's  thoughts  on  one  hot  eager  trail  were  very 
different.  "To-morrow,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence, 
abruptly  and  speaking  with  a  sort  of  quiet  force,  "the  Ander- 
sons are  going  to  Ambleside.  Mrs  Anderson  told  me  so. 
Betsey  and  the  cook  will  be  left  in  charge  of  the  house.  I 
want  you  to  come  over  to  Keswick  with  me,  where  we  can 


60  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

be  married,  and — and  we  can  come  back  the  next  day  be- 
fore they  return,"  he  finished  hurriedly. 

The  thought  of  decisive  action  jarred  upon  her  mood  and 
disturbed  her.  It  was  as  if  he  had  seized  her  b^  the  arm 
and  was  hurrying  her  violently  to  the  edge  of  a  stream  she 
was  not  prepared  to  jump  over.  "Why  are  they  goi  g  to 
Ambleside?"  she  asked  inconsequently. 

"I  believe  Mrs  Anderson's  sister's  husband  has  died 
and  they  are  going  to  see  what  they  can  do  for  her;  I  under- 
stood they  would  not  come  back  till  the  next  day  at  noon. 
Itold  them  I  had  business  inKeswick  andshould  be  away  too." 

"You  don't  want  them  to  know  we  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried?" Lydia  asked,  looking  up  at  him.  The  lane  was 
very  quiet,  sweetly  still,  only  a  bat  now  and  then  flew  silently 
over  their  heads,  in  the  soft  air,  against  the  rose-coloured  sky. 

"Well  it  is  only  because  you  say  the  old  lady  is  so  much 
against  it,"  he  answered,  "and  would  make  herself  dis- 
agreeable. If  she  did  we  should  have  to  go  away;  it  shall 
be  just  as  you  like,  Lydia  darling,  we  will  do  that  if  you  like, 
only  when  I  came  here  I  paid  a  premium  to  cover  every- 
thing, my  board  and  so  on,  and  if  I  leave  I  suppose  I  must 
waste  it.  Then  I  have  no  place  to  take  you  to;  it  doesn't 
seem  worth  while  to  think  of  making  a  home  here  for  as  soon 
as  I've  collected  the  money  I'll  get  the  passages  and  we'll 
start  for  America." 

Lydia  was  silent.  She  was  thinking  it  was  nice  to  be 
called  "darling,"  delightful  to  hear  the  eager  passion  in  his 
voice  and  know  that  she  was  creating  it. 

"I  thought,"  he  continued  after  a  moment,  "  it  would  be 
better,  would  save  us  a  little  if  we  went  on  living  here  just  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  till  I  was  ready  to  start.  The  premium 
used  up  some  of  my  ready  money  and  the  license  cost  me  a  lot; 
but — but  if  you  don't  like  the  idea,  we'll  arrange  something 
else." 

"I  don't  mind.  I  should  like  it  to  be  any  way  you  like," 
she  answered  softly,  "only  wouldn't  it  be  better  if  we  waited 
to  marry  till  you  are  ready  to  start  ? " 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  61 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  exclaimed  passionately,  stopping  in 
the  lane  and  drawing  her  round  into  his  arms,  "I  want  you 
now,  now  for  my  very  own." 

Lydia  leant  her  head  back  on  his  shoulder,  unresisting. 

"Very  well,"  she  murmured,  her  will  submerged  in  his. 

"Will  you  be  ready  to-morrow,  when  they  have  left,  to 
come  over  with  me  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  minute. 

"Yes,  I  will  be  ready,"  she  answered,  and  between  the 
waves  of  delight  she  felt  at  the  idea  of  wholly  belonging  to 
him  and  the  wonder  at  the  transformation  coming  over  her 
life,  the  thought  intruded  itself  that  she  must  get  up  early 
the  next  morning  in  time  to  wash,  starch  and  iron  her  best 
white  cotton  dress  to  wear  for  the  great  event.  "What 
time  are  they  going?"  she  asked. 

"At  eleven  o'clock,  before  dinner,  and  they  take  the 
children;  there  will  be  no  one  to  interfere  with  you.  I've 
managed  it  all  with  Betsey.  Someone  had  to  know  but 
I've  made  it  all  right  with  her.  She  won't  say  a  word.  If 
you  leave  the  house  at  half -past  eleven  I  will  meet  you  up 
beyond  the  fir  wood  on  the  hill  and  we  can  walk  into  Keswick 
by  the  Sticks  Pass  in  two  hours  or  so.  Will  you  mind  the 
walk,"  he  added  anxiously,  "will  it  be  too  far  for  you  ?" 

Lydia  laughed. 

"How  nicely  you  have  planned  everything!  You  must 
have  thought  about  our  marrying  quite  a  long  time!" 

"Darling!  I  have  never  thought  about  anything  else  since 
I  first  saw  you!"  he  exclaimed;  "this  is  the  opportunity  I 
have  been  waiting  for,"  and  Lydia  felt  surprise.  After  all 
he  had  said  so  little  and  thought  and  meant  so  much.  With 
women  it  is  so  different,  she  reflected — they  say  so  much 
and  mean  so  little. 

"Well  then  we  get  to  Keswick  say  about  two,"  he  con- 
tinued, eagerly  pursuing  what  to  him  was  a  well-worn  train 
of  thought,  "and  we  will  go  and  be  married  at  once,  the 
first  thing.  Then  we'll  go  to  the  inn  and  have  tea,  then  we'll 
stroll  about  by  the  lake — and  we'll  come  back  the  next  day." 

"Very  well,"  Lydia  answered  with  a  little  pant  in  her 


62  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

voice,  and  looked  away  into  the  dusky  hedge  with  a  beating 
heart.  They  walked  on  very  slowly.  At  the  end  of  the 
lane,  and  in  an  angle  where  another  lane  joined  it,  there  was 
an  old  oak  tree.  It  had  been  agreed  they  should  separate 
there  and  Bernard  go  round  by  the  village  and  so  home, 
while  the  girl  should  walk  back  by  one  of  the  lanes, 
so  that  if  met  near  the  farm  she  might  seem  to  have  been 
merely  taking  a  walk  alone.  Under  the  oak  when  they  came 
to  it  they  stood  to  say  good-night,  and  Lydia,  with  a  vague 
prescience  that  never  again  in  life  could  she  be  quite  as 
happy  as  then,  clung  to  each  moment  as  it  passed.  But 
the  minutes  slip  from  us  however  we  hold  to  them  in  the 
mad  race-by  of  time,  and  those  dusky  pink  moments  faded 
rapidly  and  silver  stars  came  out  and  glinted  through  the 
budding  oak  leaves.  At  last  she  had  given  Bernard  the 
good-night  kiss  and  he  had  walked  away  towards  the  village 
without  looking  back.  Lydia  slipped  from  the  shade  of  the 
great  tree  and  took  her  way  homewards  down  the  slanting 
lane  at  the  side  of  the  one  by  which  they  had  come.  It  was 
quite  light  with  that  mysterious  luminous  twilight  of  sum- 
mer in  England  that  is  so  absent  in  the  East.  That  hushed 
light  summer  dusk,  what  a  madness  it  stirs  in  the  heart  and 
blood  of  youth!  The  lilac  in  the  hedges  on  either  side  of  the 
lane  made  the  dusk  heavy  with  fragrance  and  it  poured 
through  the  girl's  nostrils  till  her  brain  and  heart  seemed 
bursting.  Everywhere  was  tender  light,  sweet-scented  still- 
ness, and  the  mysterious  suggestion  of  love,  of  passion, 
of  joy  of  the  delight  and  wonder  of  Life  and  of  the  World. 
It  seemed  to  come  out  and  meet  her  from  the  branches  of  the 
may  trees  overhead  laden  with  white  blossom,  and  to  steal 
out  of  the  closed  flowers  sleeping  in  the  hedge  and  be  expressed 
in  the  disturbed  twitter  of  some  small  wakeful  bird  in  its 
nest.  She  walked  on,  possessed  with  a  sense  of  exaltation, 
her  feet  light  and  springing,  her  cheeks  aflame,  her  eyes  wide 
and  burning  looking  out  questioningly  into  the  twilight  of 
the  wonderful  maddening  summer  night. 


PART  II 
THE   FIRST   PURCHASE 


CHAPTER  IV 

ALTHOUGH  she  had  slept  little  through  the  night  Lydia  was 
up  the  following  morning  as  soon  as  the  first  grey  glimmer  of 
the  dawn  stole  into  her  room.  She  felt  strong,  glad  and 
happy,  with  the  wine  of  excitement  flowing  fast  in  all  her 
veins,  and  she  slipped  down  the  stairs  through  the  sleeping 
house,  with  her  cotton  dress  on  her  arm,  to  the  wash-house. 
She  soon  had  a  fire  lighted  and  hot  water,  and  the  short 
simple  garment  was  quickly  washed  through  before  the 
light  had  grown  strong  enough  to  show  up  clearly  the  things 
in  the  kitchen.  As  she  was  getting  the  starch  water  ready 
she  caught  sight  of  her  flushed  happy  face  in  the  little  square 
of  glass  hanging  opposite  her  on  the  wash-house  wall  and 
paused  a  moment  looking  at  it,  with  her  round  moist  arms 
resting  on  the  edge  of  the  steaming  tub.  How  good  it  was 
to  have  firm  round  cheeks  like  that,  and  great  velvety  eyes, 
to  have  Bernard  and  to  be  loved  and  caressed;  looking 
at  the  round  white  throat  in  the  glass  she  remembered  how 
he  had  kissed  it  last  night;  a  hot  blush  burnt  all  over  her 
face  and  she  turned  sharply  to  the  starching  bowl.  She  was 
buying  him  with  all  these  things  she  knew.  He  was  the  new 
version  of  the  big  doll  with  the  fat  stuffed  body  she  had  so 
loved  and  covetec}  a  few  years  back  and  bought  because  she, 

63 


64  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

had  been  lucky  enough  to  have  the  necessary  pence  of  its  price. 
Now  again  she  had,  it  seemed,  the  necessary  price.  It  was 
a  great  thing  to  be  able  to  buy  what  you  wanted  in  this  world, 
she  reflected,  as  she  deftly  starched  and  stiffened  the  cotton 
and  the  light  grew  strong  in  the  kitchen.  She  felt  very  con- 
tented, and  that  the  price  she  was  paying  might  possibly 
have  got  her  a  better  doll,  or  that  accumulated  toys  are  some- 
times troublesome,  and  that  warehousing  bills  in  life  are 
sometimes  heavy,  never  occurred  to  her.  As  the  light  grew 
she  filled  up  the  kettles  and  put  them  on  the  fire  for  the 
breakfasts  and  then  ran  upstairs  with  the  finished  dress  in 
her  arms  to  her  room,  where  she  set  it  out  carefully  by  the 
window  to  get  rid  of  its  dampness.  The  morning  was  a 
very  busy  one,  the  Andersons  were  fussy  and  excited  about 
their  visit,  and  it  seemed  to  the  girl  they  would  never  get  off. 
Bella  Anderson  seemed  to  stare  at  her  so  queerly  too:  she 
wondered  if  her  happy  secret  was  visible  in  her  face. 

"You  do  look  gay,"  that  young  lady  remarked  as  she 
called  Lydia  into  her  room  at  the  last  minute  to  brush  her 
dress  for  her.  "What's  come  to  you?  I  believe  you're 
walking  out  with  someone!"  she  added  suspiciously  as 
Lydia's  colour  heightened  visibly  and  she  bent  over  the  flounce 
of  the  other's  dress. 

"No  indeed,"  she  murmured  in  reply. 

"Like  as  not,"  returned  Bella,  giving  the  brim  of  her 
hat  a  vicious  tug  as  she  surveyed  her  own  unpleasing  image 
in  the  glass. 

"Well,  if  I  find  it  out  I'll  tell  ma  and  you'll  just  pack." 

Lydia  did  not  answer  at  all  but  she  felt  a  great  sense  of 
gratitude  swell  in  her  towards  Bernard,  who  was  going  to 
make  her  independent  of  all  these  people,  a  great  joy  to 
think  after  to-day  she  would  be  mistress  of  a  certain  life 
of  her  own.  Married!  Then  nothing  would  matter,  nothing 
any  of  them  could  say  or  do  would  harm  her. 

"There,  that'll  do,"  said  Bella,  sharply,  "don't  brush  me 
into  holes :  give  me  my  sunshade,  it's  gone  down  behind  the 
bed  there," 


65 

Lydia  crawled  under  the  bed  after  the  sunshade  and 
emerged  again  with  it,  red  in  the  face  and  dusty.  She  was 
glad  of  the  excuse  for  she  could  feel  the  blood  was  burning 
in  her  cheeks. 

Bella  took  it  in  silence  and  sailed  downstairs,  looking 
from  head  to  foot  the  country  girl  in  her  best  clothes,  and 
Lydia  from  a  side  window  saw  the  whole  party  fit  them- 
selves into  the  heavy  country  cart  and  lumber  off  down  the 
road.  Then  there  was  a  great  silence  in  the  house  in  which 
she  suddenly  seemed  to  hear  her  heart  beating  and  her 
breath  coming  and  going.  Bernard  had  had  some  lunch 
and  gone  off  early,  nominally  to  Keswick,  but  Lydia  knew 
he  would  be  waiting  for  her  beyond  the  fir  wood.  With  a 
curious  terror  and  delight  at  the  realisation  that  the  time 
had  come  for  her  to  take  the  last  step,  and  her  thoughts 
shying  away  from  the  aim  and  object  of  her  expedition  and 
absolutely  refusing  to  stand  in  front  of  it,  she  turned  from 
the  window  and  went  up  to  dress.  In  her  fresh  white  cotton, 
a  white  straw  hat  and  white  cotton  gloves,  she  came  down  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  later  and  went  into  the  kitchen  to  find 
Betsey.  The  old  woman  was  scouring  out  the  saucepans  as 
she  entered,  but  stopped  at  her  entry,  and  leaning  against 
the  kitchen  table,  watched  her  come  up,  with  folded  hands. 

"Betsey,"  said  the  girl,  in  her  soft,  caressing  voice,  "Mr 
Chetwynd  has  told  you  all  about  it,  hasn't  he  ?  You  will 
be  our  friend,  won't  you,  and  not  say  anything  about — 
about  this  to  Miss  Bella  or  anyone  ?  " 

"That  I  will,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  woman,  eyeing  her 
keenly  from  head  to  foot.  "Mr  Chetwynd  has  behaved 
to  me  like  a  gentleman  and  he  shall  never  be  worried  by  my 
tongue.  You  go  and  get  married,  and  good  luck  to  you. 
You  make  a  handsome  pair,  you  do.  As  for  Miss  Bella,  she 
don't  like  me  and  I  don't  like  her,  but  you,  my  dearie,  you've 
been  awful  good  to  me  and  I'm  glad  you've  got  a  personable 
young  gentleman  to  take  you  up  and  marry  you,  that  I  am." 
Lydia  bent  forward  and  pressed  her  rosy  lips  to  the  old 
woman's  wrinkled  cheek  in  silence.  Then  she  walked 
5 


66 

sedately  out  of  the  kitchen  and  on  across  the  gardens  and 
fields  to  the  high  road.  Alone  on  the  road  a  certain  sense 
of  anxiety  weighed  upon  her:  physical  and  mental  ner- 
vousness seemed  trembling  all  through  her,  but  the  moment 
she  felt  the  cool  breath  of  the  pine  wood  touch  her  face, 
and  saw  Bernard's  tall  figure  moving  restlessly  up  and  down 
on  its  border,  every  misgiving  fell  from  her.  She  felt  joyous, 
confident.  This  was  what  she  was  marrying  for.  For 
nothing  else.  For  the  possession  of  this  large  vital  being. 
It  was  natural  that  as  her  eyes  rested  on  him  she  should 
feel  content,  and  perhaps  not  so  content  at  other  times.  It 
was  the  old  tale  of  the  big  doll  in  the  toy  shop  that  had 
appealed  so  irresistibly  to  her,  extended  behind  the  panes  of 
the  shop  window. 

"I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  he  exclaimed, 
"it  has  seemed  terrible  ages  that  I  have  been  waiting  here." 
Lydia  looked  up  and  saw  that  his  face  seemed  lined  with 
anxiety. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said  gently. 

"I  felt  as  if  something  would  happen,  would  prevent 
your  coming,"  he  continued  feverishly  as  they  started  side 
by  side  to  breast  the  hill  that  rolled  upward  above  the  fir 
wood. 

"Well  then  we  must  have  been  married  some  other 
day,"  she  answered  tranquilly,  a  little  surprised  at  the  fierce, 
strained  tension  of  his  manner. 

Bernard  gave  a  dry  laugh  but  no  immediate  reply.  After 
a  minute  he  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist  as  they  walked 
side  by  side  and  said  caressingly,  with  relief  in  his  voice 
and  manner, — 

"But  you  are  here,  darling,  you  have  been  able  to  come, 
nothing  else  matters." 

"No,  nothing  natters,"  she  answered  joyfully,  and  join- 
ing hands  they  ran  up  the  hill  in  the  face  of  the  sweet  morn- 
ing air.  The  blue  sky  laughed  over  them,  the  purple  hills 
rolled  round  them,  the  light  nodding  grass  sprang  up  again 
as  their  footsteps  passed  over  it:  the  song  of  the  birds  rose 


LIFE'S    SHOP   WINDOW  67 

in  a  great  chorus  on  every  side  in  the  sunlight  and  to  the  girl 
that  walk  seemed  over  too  quickly;  Keswick  was  reached 
almost  before  she  wished  it. 

The  streets  of  the  town  were  dusty  and  deserted.  It 
was  the  hot,  unpleasant  time  of  day  when  even  the  dogs  in 
the  streets  crept  into  shady  corners.  Bernard  and  Lydia 
walked  along  almost  in  silence  straight  to  the  small  stone 
church  in  its  confined  yard  of  scanty  green  near  the  market 
square.  As  they  passed  in  an  old  ragged  woman  begged 
of  Lydia  at  the  gate.  The  girl  had  nothing  with  her  and 
Bernard  hardly  noticed  the  beggar.  The  church  door  stood 
ajar  as  if  grudging  entry,  as  is  the  way  with  English  churches, 
and  the  old  verger  shuffled  round  from  the  back  to  meet  them. 

In  another  moment  Bernard  and  Lydia  had  passed  in 
to  the  grey  interior  from  the  hot  sunlight  and  wavering 
shadows  of  the  laughing  poplar  trees  and  their  dancing 
leaves.  The  old  beggar  sat  down  by  the  gateway  and  eyed 
the  church  door  with  a  sullen  stare.  The  minutes  passed, 
minutes  that  pass  ever  so  lightly  and  quickly,  weighted 
though  they  are  with  human  destinies,  and  at  last  she  saw 
them  come  out.  In  their  faces  was  all  the  happy  glow  of 
triumphant  life  and  love.  The  haggard  eyes  watching 
them  saw  the  man  draw  the  girl's  arm  into  his  with  infinite 
desiring  tenderness  and  the  girl  smile  up  into  his  face  with 
quick  pleasure  and  delight. 

Nearer  they  came  on  to  the  gate,  and  as  they  passed  her 
the  old  beggar  spat  vigorously  on  the  ground.  "Do  you 
think  you'll  wear  that  sprig  of  may  long,  stuck  in  your  chest  ?  " 
she  said  with  vicious  emphasis,  looking  up  at  Bernard  as  he 
passed.  "Such  as  that  ain't  for  plain  coats  long!" 

Lydia  pressed  his  arm  as  they  hurried  through  the  gate 
once  more  into  the  sleepy,  dusty  streets.  "What  did  she 
mean,  Bernard?"  she  asked.  She  was  tender-hearted,  sen- 
sitive and  sympathetic,  and  the  old  woman's  ragged  misery 
distressed  her.  "Shall  we  give  her  anything?" 

"No,"  said  Bernard,  shortly,  and  looking  up  she  saw  he 
was  white  and  angry. 


68  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

The  next  minute  he  laughed  his  usual  good-humoured 
laugh. 

"Don't  think  about  it,  darling.  Now,  where  shall  we 
go  to  have  tea?" 

"Anywhere  you  like,"  she  answered  joyfully,  giving  his 
arm  a  little  squeeze. 

"Isn't  it  perfectly  delightful  to  be  like  this  together 
and  without  anyone  to  bother  us,  I  am  so  happy,"  she  said, 
and  clasped  her  left  hand  in  front  of  her,  looking  at  the  bright 
sheen  of  her  wedding  ring  that  showed  clearly  in  the  sunlight 
through  her  cotton  glove.  Bernard  did  not  answer  in  words 
but  he  looked  down  on  her,  and  meeting  his  eyes  the  happy 
blushes  flew  all  over  her  face  again  and  she  turned  her  own 
gaze  away  in  trembling  confusion. 

"I  am  so  desperately  hungry  and  thirsty  I  can't  walk 
another  step,"  Bernard  exclaimed  lightly  after  a  few  more 
paces,  "let's  go  in  here." 

They  had  stopped  opposite  the  Rose  and  Crown,  one  of 
those  delightful  little  inns  that  the  great  grey  stone  modern 
hotels  have  not  yet  quite  swept  away  in  the  Lake  district. 
Its  red-tiled  roof  projected  prettily  over  its  whitewashed 
front  and  a  torrent  of  tiny  white  button  roses  poured  over 
it.  The  door  in  the  trellis  porch  stood  open,  and  looking  in 
one  could  see  straight  down  the  narrow  passage  to  the  garden 
and  cool  green  trees  at  the  back.  As  they  entered  the  land- 
lady came  out  of  the  primitive  bar  at  the  side  of  the  passage 
and  curtseyed. 

"Tea  and  eggs,  sir?  Yes,  sir;  straight  on  down  the 
passage,  miss,  on  the  left,"  she  called  after  Lydia,  who  had 
wandered  on  towards  the  garden  door  while  Bernard  gave 
his  order.  She  turned  into  the  little  parlour  on  the  left: 
a  low-ceilinged  room  with  two  or  three  small  tables  near  the 
window,  covered  with  white  cloths,  and  a  large  table  at  the 
back,  with  the  huge  Bible,  crochet  mats  and  cases  of  stuffed 
birds  under  glass  without  which  no  country  inn  is  com- 
plete. True  also  to  country  traditions  the  window  was 
tightly  shut  and  bolted  and  weary  bluebottles  buzzed  be- 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  69 

tween  the  glass  and  the  black  wire  blind.  Lydia  took  a 
seat  by  it. 

"Sha'n't  we  open  the  window,  Bernard?"  she  said  as  he 
came  in;  "it's  a  shame  to  keep  out  this  lovely  air."  He 
leant  across  her,  and  with  those  strong  arms  she  admired 
unhooked  the  blind  and  pushed  up  the  sticking  window. 
A  flood  of  sweet  rich  air,  laden  with  the  scent  of  honey,  came 
in  and  fanned  their  faces.  The  garden  beyond  was  cool  and 
shady  and  delicious  in  its  medley  of  tossing  roses,  holly- 
hocks, reibe,  and  gooseberry  bushes:  down  on  the  one 
narrow  gravel  path  that  wandered  amongst  the  flowers 
and  low  fruit  trees  were  countless  small  blue  butterflies, 
fluttering,  rising,  alighting,  wooing,  mating,  in  the  hot  quiet 
afternoon.  Lydia  looked  out  and  watched  them,  leaning 
her  chin  on  her  hand.  She  wanted  to  think  of  them  or 
anything  but  herself  at  that  moment.  It  was  difficult,  un- 
comfortable to  think  of  herself  then :  her  thoughts  all  seemed 
disorganised,  confused,  scurrying  this  way  and  that  in  her 
brain,  jumping  over  certain  things  and  leaving  them  blank, 
and  attaching  themselves  to  other  unimportant  details  and 
trifles  in  a  fidgeting  manner.  So  she  was  really  married 
now:  how  quickly,  simply  and  quietly  such  an  important 
thing  had  been  done:  she  was  not  a  girl  any  more:  the 
individuality,  the  independence,  the  privacy  of  girl  life  was 
over:  she  had  nothing  of  her  own  now:  she  did  not  even 
belong  to  herself  any  more.  This  absolute,  legal  right  of 
another  person  to  herself,  at  any  hour,  time  or  season,  what- 
ever her  own  will  at  the  moment  might  be,  came  before  her 
suddenly  with  a  sort  of  staggering  self-assertion.  It  was 
a  thought  that  swaggered  about  in  her  mind  and  filled  her 
with  consternation.  Then  the  words  of  the  marriage  service 
flew  into  her  mind;  really  she  had  not  realised  all  that  sol- 
emnity of  the  thing  till  she  felt  the  chill  of  the  musty  church 
on  her  and  found  herself  standing  before  the  old  clergyman 
who  mumbled  those  weighty  and  unfamiliar  words  and 
phrases  to  her. 

Bernard,  sitting  far  back  in  the  big  chair  on  the  other 


70  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

side  of  the  window,  tossed  his  hat  aside,  and  leaning  his  head 
back  watched  her  out  of  the  shadow,  with  unbounded  and 
unalloyed  delight  and  satisfaction.  In  reality  he  would 
have  had  better  right  to  congratulate  himself  had  he  just 
married  the  freckled,  weak-mouthed  Bella  Anderson,  but 
then  he  would  not  have  thought  so,  and  after  all,  it  is  better, 
in  this  world  of  unsatisfying  dreams,  to  think  we  are  blessed 
when  we  really  are  not,  than  to  be  really  blessed  when  we 
do  not  think  we  are.  If  Bernard  had  that  day  bought 
himself  a  most  dangerous  toy  he  was  at  least  as  happy  as  a 
small  boy  with  a  new  gun.  A  great  affection  came  into 
his  eyes  as  he  gazed  at  her,  softening  their  expression  of 
triumphant  possession.  She  was  his  now  and  in  his  hands, 
and  in  every  nature  which  has  any  nobility  in  it  the  sense  of 
ownership  and  power  brings  with  it  tenderness  and  diffi- 
dence. She  was  very  pretty  as  she  sat  there  with  a  new 
gravity  and  seriousness  touching  her  face.  The  bodice  of 
her  white  frock  had  strips  of  open  embroidery  work  across 
the  front,  and  through  these  he  could  see  the  delicate  pinker 
tint  of  her  neck  and  how  tightly  the  cotton  stuff  pressed  on 
the  full  roundness  of  her  bosom:  the  waist  below  had  slight, 
elegant  lines  drawn  in  by  a  simple  white  ribbon,  and  the  plain 
clean  skirt,  falling  not  quite  to  the  floor  and  showing  the 
trim  little  boots  below,  still  farther  enhanced  the  effect  of 
girlish  innocence.  The  expression  of  her  face  as  his  eyes 
came  back  to  it  troubled  him.  He  got  up  and  went  over 
to  her.  "Take  off  your  hat  and  lean  back,"  he  said,  "you 
will  rest  so  much  better:  you  must  be  tired  by  that  long 
walk:  you  look  so  serious:  what  are  your  thinking  of?" 

"Oh,  lots  of  things,"  she  answered  with  a  little  nervous 
laugh.  "I  was  watching  the  butterflies,  aren't  they  lovely  ?" 
She  put  up  her  hands  to  draw  the  pin  out  of  her  hat  and 
the  landlady  came  in  with  the  tea  tray  and  set  it  on  the  table 
near  them. 

"I've  cut  some  bread  and  butter  and  there's  toast  and 
teacake  and  honey  from  our  own  garden,"  she  said,  settling 
the  cosy  on  the  teapot  and  surveying  the  simple  but  delicious 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  71 

meal  with  genuine  pride.  "And  if  there's  anything  else 
you  require  please  to  touch  the  bell." 

Bernard  glanced  over  the  table. 

"Thank  you,  that's  capital,"  he  said,  and  the  woman, 
with  a  side  glance  at  Lydia,  withdrew. 

The  Lake  district  in  England  is  so  inundated  with  young 
men  and  girls,  newly-married  couples,  and  other  couples 
not  so  much  married  as  they  might  be,  who  walk,  ride,  row, 
coach,  drive  and  take  rustic  teas  together,  that  it  was  only 
their  specially  fine  physique  that  in  any  way  marked  them 
out  from  hundreds  of  such  pairs  that  the  good  lady  served 
in  the  course  of  the  month. 

"Come  now,"  said  Bernard,  drawing  up  a  chair  to  the 
table  for  her  and  waiting  for  her  to  rise.  They  took  their 
places  at  the  table  and  Lydia  poured  out  the  tea,  following 
the  movements  of  her  left  hand,  where  the  fat  gold  ring 
shone,  with  interest.  Bernard  devoured  the  landlady's  all 
too  delicate  bread  and  butter  and  swept  up  half  the  teacake 
in  a  way  that  made  the  girl  laugh. 

"You  are  hungry,"  she  said,  offering  him  his  cup. 

"I  am  indeed,  and  so  must  you  be;  just  think  of  that 
early  lunch  and  then  all  the  walk  and  the  time  in 
the  church  and  then  the  waiting  here.  I  am  most  awfully 
hungry." 

He  took  the  cup  and  their  fingers  touched  as  he  did  so, 
sending  an  exquisite  little  thrill  of  pleasure  through  them 
both.  Bernard  had  spoken  hastily,  carelessly,  and  then 
feared  suddenly  as  to  how  the  words  would  sound,  and  a 
deep  colour  burned  in  his  cheek.  They  conveyed  nothing 
to  the  girl,  who  only  laughed  again. 

How  happy  they  both  felt  as  they  sat  there,  as  happy  as 
the  blue  butterflies  in  the  path  outside,  or  the  two  sparrows 
in  the  reibe  bush,  and  for  the  same  reasons.  They  had  food 
before  them  and  their  mate  beside  them,  with  no  one  present 
to  disturb  them. 

That  which  makes  an  animal's  perfect  joy  is  still  enough 
to  make  a  man's.  We  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  finding  any 


72  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

better  aid  to  happiness  than  the  prescription  originally 
written  out  for  us  by  Nature. 

"This  place  seems  very  clean  and  nice,"  Bernard  re- 
marked after  a  few  minutes,  when  they  had  exhausted  the 
teacake  and  toast  and  had  passed  on  to  the  bread  and  honey. 
"Would  you  like  to  stay  here  the  night  or  have  you  any 
fancy  for  any  place  ?  Would  you  like  to  go  up  to  the  Kes- 
wick?" 

"I  don't  mind,"  murmured  Lydia,  her  eyes  on  her  plate. 
"I  will  do  just  as  you  like;  this  place  is  very  nice." 

"All  right  then,  we'll  stay  here,"  returned  Bernard, 
cheerfully,  lightly,  affecting  to  treat  the  matter  with  indif- 
ference, to  give  her  time  to  recover  herself. 

"Give  me  some  more  tea,  please." 

She  poured  out  the  tea,  and  after  he  had  drunk  it  he  rose 
with  his  usual  decisive  movements. 

"I'll  go  and  pay  for  the  tea,  Lydia,  you  stay  here." 

He  went  out  and  found  the  landlady  at  the  door  of  the 
bar. 

"How  much  shall  I  give  you  for  our  tea?"  he  asked, 
bringing  out  a  handful  of  change  from  his  pocket. 

"Two  shillings,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"Can  you  let  us  have  a  room  here  for  the  night?"  he 
asked  as  he  handed  her  the  money. 

"One  room,  sir?" 

Bernard  nodded.     The  landlady  hesitated. 

"Please,  sir — excuse  me,  but  is  the  lady  your  wife,  sir?" 

Bernard  was  not  at  all  offended,  rather  pleased  at  the 
opportunity  it  gave  him  of  stating  the  pleasing  fact. 

"Yes,"  he  said  frankly,  "we  were  married  to-day  by 
your  clergyman  here.  Would  you  like  to  see  the  certifi- 
cate?" 

The  landlady's  face  cleared. 

"No,  sir,  I  know  a  gentleman  and  I  take  his  word.  You'll 
excuse  me  asking  for  there's  a  many  that  comes  here  as  is 
not  married  what  should  be  and  them's  not  the  sort  I  like. 
Will  you  follow  me,  sir,  and  I'll  show  you  the  room?" 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  73 

Bernard  followed  her  up  one  flight  of  stairs,  and  was 
shown  into  a  room  over  the  one  in  which  they  had  had  tea. 
In  its  pretty  brightness  and  clean  simplicity  it  was  a  pleasing 
shrine  for  simple,  youthful  love  to  rest  in.  The  bed  was 
draped  with  pink  and  white  dimity  curtains,  showing  a 
pattern  of  climbing  roses,  and  entirely  enclosing  it  in  their 
fresh  folds.  The  floor  was  of  white  boards  with  strips  of 
bright  carpet  in  suitable  places.  The  window  had  lace 
curtains  looped  back  from  it,  and  outside,  great  sprays, 
heavy  with  white  roses,  pushed  against  the  glass,  only  asking 
the  window  to  be  opened  for  them  to  fill  the  room  with 
fragrance.  The  woman  crossed  to  the  window  and  opened 
it.  "There's  a  fine  view,  sir;  you  can't  quite  see  the  lake 
but  the  mountings  is  very  clear." 

Bernard  followed  her  to  the  casement  and  looked  out. 
The  splendid  semi-circle  of  purple  hills  that  hold  Derwent- 
water  in  their  arms  rose  faintly,  bewitchingly  soft  into  the 
sky  just  growing  tender  at  the  approach  of  evening.  Bernard 
was  so  pleased  with  the  room  he  never  thought  to  inquire 
the  price.  "We'll  take  this  one,"  he  said  at  once,  "you 
will  reserve  it  for  us.  We  shall  probably  stroll  down  to  the 
lake  this  evening.  What  time  do  you  close  the  hotel?" 

"  Oh,  not  before  twelve,  sir.  Me  or  my  husband's  in 
the  bar  and  will  let  you  in  any  time." 

Bernard  hurried  downstairs  and  found  the  girl  still 
sitting  gazing  into  the  golden  glory  of  the  garden.  "  Which 
would  you  like,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her  plump 
shoulder,  "to  go  upstairs  and  rest,  or  come  down  to  the  lake  ? 
Perhaps  you're  too  tired  for  any  more  walking?" 

Lydia  turned  with  a  bright  smile. 

"I  am  not  one  bit  tired,"  she  answered.  "Let's  go  to 
the  lake.  I  was  just  thinking  how  funny  it  was  to  be  able 
to  sit  down  like  this  and  be  idle  for  so  long  and  not  hear  anyone 
saying,  'Lydia,  do  this,'  'Lydia,  do  that/  'where  are  you?' 
'what  are  you  doing  ?'  To  be  one's  own  mistress,  to  please 
oneself  for  a  whole  day  like  this,  is  simply  wonderful!" 

Bernard  laughed,    "Well  henceforth,  or  at  least  very 


74  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

shortly,  when  we  live  together,  you  will  have  nothing  to  do 
but  please  yourself." 

Lydia  took  his  hand  from  her  shoulder  and  held  it  be- 
tween both  of  hers,  stroking  it  gently.  "No,"  she  said 
rather  sadly,  "my  whole  time  then  will  be  spent  pleasing 
you." 

In  which  she  showed  much  premature  wisdom. 

"It's  the  same  thing,"  protested  Bernard. 

Lydia  smiled  but  did  not  pursue  the  question.  She 
turned  her  eyes  again  to  the  garden  where  some  of  the  flowers 
hung  drooping  and  faded  on  their  stalks,  after  the  heat  of 
the  day,  killed  by  those  kisses  of  the  sun  to  which  they  had 
so  eagerly  unfolded  their  fresh  petals  that  morning. 

Bernard  drew  away  his  hand  from  her  soft,  caressing 
palms  and  brought  her  hat  to  her,  which  she  put  on  without 
rising,  and  then  drew  her  gloves  on.  Bernard  picked  up  his 
hat  and  they  walked  to  the  door.  When  they  reached  it, 
and  before  the  girl  had  opened  it,  he  placed  himself  between 
her  and  it  and  held  out  his  arms. 

"Kiss  me,"  he  said,  and  the  tone  was  more  of  a  command 
than  a  request.  He  looked  splendidly  handsome  in  that 
moment,  with  all  the  grace  of  strength  and  vigour  and  spirit 
that  Nature  gives  to  the  male  to  fight  his  battles  of  love 
with  as  generously  as  she  gives  charm  to  the  female. 

Lydia  looked  at  him  and  leant  forward  willingly,  raising 
her  face  to  his,  feeling  she  really  loved  him  very  much  indeed, 
but  after  the  kiss  she  drew  back  trembling  and  with  her 
heart  beating  and  they  went  out  into  the  passage,  and  then 
the  road,  in  silence. 

The  streets  of  the  busy  little  town  were  very  different  in 
aspect  from  what  they  had  been  in  the  hot,  dusty,  sleepy 
noontide.  A  brass  band  was  playing  loudly  and  the  pave- 
ment was  covered  by  a  stream  of  thronging  figures:  mostly 
couples,  young  men  and  women,  the  women  in  bright  cotton 
frocks  and  summer  hats,  the  young  men  in  flannels,  striped 
blazers  or  light  suits.  Here  and  there  passed  the  familiar 
form  of  the  regular  pedestrian  or  mountain  climber,  in  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  75 

correct  costume — knickerbockers,  nailed  boots,  and  tweed 
cap,  alpine  stock  in  hand,  knapsack  on  back,  and  earnest 
sternness  on  face.  Some  of  these  passed  two  and  three 
together,  members  of  the  same  walking  tour.  It  was  a  gay 
and  pretty  scene  all  these  holiday-makers,  sauntering  by 
talking,  smiling,  laughing,  joining  arms,  streaming  along 
to  and  from  the  lake  in  the  still,  calm,  golden  air.  A  scene 
full  of  love,  joy  and  life,  and  some  of  the  best  emotions  of 
life.  Lydia  and  Bernard  mingled  with  it  and  turned  their 
faces  towards  the  lake.  She  felt  influenced  by  it  and  a  strange 
fire  of  excitement,  of  joy,  began  to  grow  in  her.  Round  her 
on  each  side  she  heard  gay  chattering  voices,  she  saw  pleased 
faces  lit  up  by  youth  and  joy  and  expectant  love,  and  she 
felt  she  too  had  her  place  there.  This  was  life:  she  was 
tasting  it  now:  she  had  laid  hold  of  a  big  piece  with  both 
hands. 

It  was  a  delicious  evening,  cool,  pure  and  tranquil,  with 
a  moon  rising  above  the  meadows;  not  a  great  cold  glaring 
moon  that  would  go  soaring  up  through  a  steely  sky,  showing 
how  high  above  the  earth  it  was,  how  vast  and  how  desolate, 
but  a  small  young  tender  moon,  a  slim  crescent  of  sweet 
silver  that  nestled  low  down  in  the  warm  pink  sky,  only  just 
above  the  larch  tree  tops  and  the  bird's  nests  and  seeming 
to  hold  a  great  sparkling  planet  of  many  fires  between  its 
delicate  horns. 

Coming  home  Bernard  was  very  silent,  and  when  they 
had  entered  the  narrow  passage  of  the  little  inn,  which  was 
quite  empty  and  dark  save  for  a  small  blue  bead  of  gas  in 
the  jet  on  the  wall,  he  was  silent  still  and  went  up  to  the 
table  at  the  end  where  one  candlestick  and  matches  were 
standing.  He  lighted  the  candle  without  speaking  and  then 
turned  and  pushed  the  candlestick  into  her  hands. 

"Here,  darling,  go  upstairs,  No.  20,  but  let  me  come 
rery  soon,  won't  you?"  he  murmured  hurriedly,  bending 
over  her.  Lydia  heard  the  stress  in  his  voice  and  raised  her 
face  full  of  innocent  joy  and  trust.  She  would  have  liked 
to  say,  "Come  now,  come  with  me,"  but  she  paused  nerv* 


76  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

ously.  Perhaps  it  was  not  the  right  thing.  Perhaps  it 
would  seem  immodest.  So  she  took  the  candle  obediently 
and  went  up  the  stairs  and  found  No.  20  and  went  in  and 
closed  the  door.  She  set  down  the  candle  and  looked  round 
her. 

This  was  her  wedding  night.  She  had  read  in  novels 
picked  up  here  and  there  of  such  periods  as  this  in  women's 
lives.  She  had  read  of  the  besieging  feelings  of  embarrass- 
ment, nervousness,  timidity  and  shame.  Why  did  she  feel 
none  of  these  things,  she  wondered,  as  she  walked  towards 
the  window.  She  felt  nothing,  nothing  of  these.  It  all 
seemed  so  natural,  so  perfect.  She  had  an  overwhelming 
sense  of  the  naturalness,  the  fitness  of  everything  that  was 
happening  just  as  it  ought  to  happen.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  was  merely  acting  in  accordance  with  the  commands 
of  someone  who  had  arranged  all  for  her.  It  all  seemed  so 
simple.  The  sensation  of  surprise  or  shock  that  she  ex- 
pected intellectually  to  feel  was  non-existent.  There  was 
no  shrinking  from  the  moment  when  Bernard  would  enter 
the  room,  only  a  great  longing  for  him  to  be  there.  A 
straining  in  all  the  fibres  of  her  body  to  feel  his  arms  folded 
round  her  and  to  be  crushed  against  his  breast.  The  thought 
of  revealing  herself  to  him,  of  showing  to  him  all  that  so 
far  only  her  glass  and  herself  had  seen — for  as  far  as  her 
remembrance  went  back  no  woman  even  had  ever  looked 
upon  her  unclothed — filled  her  not  with  overwhelming 
confusion,  as  she  thought  it  ought  to,  but  with  passionate 
pleasure.  She  walked  across  to  the  window  and  stood 
looking  out  into  the  sultry  night,  with  her  white  fingers 
gripping  hard  at  the  window-sill.  The  voluptuous  heat  and 
scent  of  summer  filled  the  air  and  the  stars  throbbed  redly 
above  the  fruitful  earth.  Lydia  looked  out  with  a  great 
wonder  at  herself  and  life,  swelling  in  her.  That  which 
would  take  place  in  a  few  moments  now  was  the  direct 
violation  of  every  thought,  instinct,  impulse  and  feeling 
that  she  had  cherished  and  clung  to,  that  had  grown  up  with 
her  and  held  her  for  the  whole  sixteen  years  of  her  virgin  life. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  77 

These  clothes  under  which  her  beauty  had  been  sheltered 
and  which  she  would  have  defended  and  fought  for  and  given 
up  her  life  rather  than  see  dragged  from  her  as  a  maiden, 
she  was  now  going  to  cast  aside  of  her  own  free  will  before 
this  man  whom  a  few  weeks  ago  she  did  not  know,  and  yet 
she  neither  felt  afraid  nor  dismayed.  No.  She  felt  no  shame, 
only  pleasure,  elation,  rapture,  as  she  thought  of  her  own 
beauty  and  the  delight  that  would  well  up  in  his  eyes  as  he 
saw  it.  But  there  must  be  some  reason;  she  knew  she  was 
not  immodest  but  there  was  some  strange  influence  round 
her  compelling  her,  ordering  her  to  do  this  thing.  A  com- 
mand laid  upon  her  like  the  command  of  a  god  that  cannot 
be  questioned  nor  reasoned  about,  only  obeyed.  It  was  in 
fact  that  she  was  in  the  hands  of  Nature,  who  was  leading 
her  gently  by  flowery  paths  as  Nature  will  always  lead  those 
who  blindly,  implicitly  obey  her.  Lydia  had  never  thought 
about  her  marriage  with  her  intellect.  Nature  had  told  her 
she  loved  this  great  powerful  vital  being  she  presented  to 
her  and  that  she  must  accept  him  and  his  desires,  and  Lydia, 
unthinkingly,  had  obeyed,  and  this  pleasure,  this  rapture 
that  seemed  too  great  to  be  contained  in  this  small  and 
humble  room,  were  Nature's  marriage  gifts  to  her.  Recog- 
nising something  of  this  within  herself  she  drew  back  from 
the  window,  which  she  closed,  and  then  drew  down  the  little 
white  blind  tightly  over  it.  Then  she  turned  to  the  chest 
of  drawers  where  the  toilet-glass  stood,  and  looking  at  her- 
self in  it  began  slowly  to  unfasten  the  buttons  of  her  bodice. 
The  black  hair  was  tossed  upward  from  her  forehead  and  her 
face  was  very  white  with  that  strange  luminous  whiteness 
of  intense  excitement.  The  soft  red  curling  lips  were  apart 
and  the  eyes  shone  back  at  her  from  the  glass,  full  of  strange 
light  and  fire. 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  step,  Bernard's  step,  on  the 
stairs. 

He  pushed  the  door  open  very  softly  and  came  in.  She 
looked  towards  him  with  a  faint  smile.  He  held  the  handle 
of  the  door  in  both  hands  behind  him  nervously,  and  pressed 


78 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 


it  shut.  She  noted  his  face  was  colourless.  He  hesitated: 
the  very  floor  on  which  he  stood  seemed  sacred,  he  hardly 
dared  to  walk  on  it.  She  looked  again  at  him  and  realising 
all  his  feelings  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  the  first  light  of  the  following  morning  began  to 
glimmer  faintly  in  the  soft  grey  air  behind  the  white  blind, 
Lydia  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  into  the  whitening  twilight 
of  the  room.  There  was  no  confused  half-consciousness  in 
her  thoughts.  She  felt  clearly  awake  and  remembered  all 
that  had  passed,  in  the  first  instant  of  awakening.  The 
brain  had  in  fact  been  too  greatly  excited  to  lose  remembrance 
even  in  its  sleep.  She  lay  quite  still  thinking  intently;  feel- 
ing that  same  rapture  of  last  night  kindling  slowly  in  all  her 
being.  That  rapture  that  all  young  and  innocent  things 
feel  when  their  feet  are  first  washed  by  the  waves  of  Life: 
those  little  harmless  waves  that  curl  along  the  shore.  After- 
wards, when  we  are  called  upon  to  breast  its  dark  billows 
and  brave  its  tempests  and  howling  winds,  we  begin  to  dread 
that  ocean,  but  the  first  touch  of  those  little  waves  upon  one's 
feet,  when  the  shores  of  Time  are  a  white  sunny  stretch 
before  one,  ah,  who  can  forget  its  thrill?  That  thrill  was 
quivering  in  Lydia  now  as  she  lay,  and  her  thoughts  were 
bright,  intense.  She  saw  the  light  irresistibly  glowing  be- 
hind the  window  pane  and  knew  that  outside  the  great  orb 
of  the  sun  was  climbing  over  the  rim  of  the  earth  to  make  this 
fresh  cool  grey  morning,  day.  And  it  seemed  to  her  that  with 
exact  similarity  the  sun  was  climbing  into  her  life.  Before 
this  it  had  been  only  the  morning,  clear  and  cool  and  grey,  just 
as  the  morning  is  before  the  dawn  when  the  earth  lies  silent 
in  it,  quiet  and  dim  and  waiting.  And  just  as  the  golden 
light  rushes  over  it,  filling  it  with  colour,  glory  and  music, 
so  now  the  sun  was  rushing,  golden  and  rosy,  into  her  life. 
A.nd  then  another  thought  came — What  would  anything 

79 


80  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

matter  now?  How  hard  she  might  have  to  work,  how 
disagreeable,  how  long  might  be  her  day,  would  not  nights 
like  last  night,  not  the  same,  ah,  never,  never  the  same  but 
still  similar,  be  repeated  again  and  again  ?  Would  not  this 
joy  be  waiting  for  her  every  evening  with  every  darkening 
of  the  sky?  Would  not  this  visit  her  and  revisit  her  night 
after  night  through  her  life?  And  the  nights  of  life,  are 
they  not  hah*  of  life  itself?  Half  at  least  then  of  her  life 
must  be  beautiful,  however  hard  and  cruel  the  other  half, 
the  cold  long  days,  might  be.  Half  of  it  must  be  warm,  rest- 
ful nights  of  love  and  joy.  This  idea  filled  her  brain  for 
a  moment  and  she  examined  it  with  delight.  Nothing  could 
touch  her,  she  cared  for  nothing  so  long  as  this  loved  and 
most  wonderful  being  beside  her  were  not  taken  from  her. 
And  then  the  days  also  that  lay  before  her  now.  It  seemed 
as  if  they  must  be  happy  too  with  this  sunlight  from  the  new 
risen  sun  streaming  over  them.  She  supposed  they  would 
be  full  of  work,  but  work  had  no  terrors  for  her.  She  had 
always  worked,  and  for  harsh,  ungracious  people  who 
grudged  her  the  food  she  ate  and  the  wage  she  earned  and 
rarely  let  a  kind  word  or  a  smile  for  her  escape  them.  Now 
when  she  was  working  for  herself  and  Bernard,  a  little  later 
when  they  began  their  real  married  life  together,  how  differ- 
ent it  would  be!  To  work  for  this  man  whose  voice  was 
always  kind,  who  never  let  his  eyes  rest  upon  her  without  a 
smile  of  tenderness!  What  work  could  tire  her?  How  she 
would  slave  to  please  him!  Impelled  by  the  warm  rush  of 
tender  feelings  she  moved  cautiously  and  raised  herself 
very  slowly  on  one  white  doubled  arm  to  hang  over  him  as 
he  lay  silent,  unconscious.  She  hardly  drew  her  breath  for 
fear  of  waking  him  and  breaking  the  mysterious  charm  of 
that  quiet  morning  twilight  in  the  silent  room  with  the 
glorious  summer  day  growing  on  the  other  side  of  the  white 
blind.  She  hung  over  him  trembling  with  fascinated  delight. 
Two  hours  later,  when  they  had  risen,  Lydia  was  in  the 
room  alone,  for  Bernard  had  insisted  on  going  downstairs 
first  and  bringing  up  some  breakfast  for  her.  She  went  to 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  81 

the  window  and  drew  up  the  blind,  when  the  sunlight  flowed 
in,  a  rush  of  gold,  and  filled  the  room.  She  paused  before 
the  looking-glass  and  glanced  at  herself  in  it,  a  vision  of 
flushed,  and  disordered  disarray.  Yet  it  seemed  to  her  in  a 
dim  way,  she  could  hardly  explain,  that  her  beauty  was  not 
now,  and  could  no  longer  be,  the  barren,  useless  possession 
it  had  so  often  seemed  in  her  maiden  life.  It  had  now  mean- 
ing and  worth.  It  had  given  pleasure  to  another,  pleasure 
to  herself,  enjoyment  had  sprung  from  it,  and  in  the  future, 
repetitions  of  this  beauty  in  different  forms  would  be  given 
to  the  world,  would  carry  on  the  sacred  burden,  the  life  of 
the  world.  It  had  found  its  true  use  and  employment,  and 
it  seemed  to  her,  even  in  its  first  loss  of  its  former  untouched 
freshness,  to  be  sanctified,  made  a  higher  and  more  precious 
thing. 

She  threw  open  the  window  and  the  song  of  the  birds 
came  in  on  the  glad  air  from  the  mountains  and  she  went 
about  the  room  singing  too.  When  Bernard  came  back 
with  a  small  breakfast  tray  in  his  hands,  she  was  dressed 
and  sitting  by  the  window,  to  all  outward  appearance  the 
same  fresh  and  beautiful  young  girl  of  yesterday.  He 
looked  half  disappointed  as  he  caught  sight  of  her.  "Why 
— you  got  up  then?" 

"Yes,  dear,  it's  so  late,  but  I  shall  enjoy  the  tea  more 
than  ever  now  after  dressing.  Come  and  sit  down  here." 

After  breakfast,  as  they  turned  to  leave  the  room,  the  girl 
glanced  round  it  with  regret. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  think  I  shall  never  be  again  in  this  room 
where  I  have  been  so  happy,"  she  whispered. 

"You  will  be  in  others  where  you  will  be  as  happy,"  he 
said  gently. 

She  met  his  eyes  and  put  her  arms  round  him  and  kissed 
him  suddenly  on  the  mouth  with  a  passion  in  her  lips  that 
gave  him  a  curious  delight  as  the  really  terrible  things  of 
this  world  so  often  have  the  power  to  do.  Then  they  went 
out. 

It  was  a  wonderful  blue-skied  morning  with  a  joyous 
6 


82  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

rollicking  summer  breeze  that  threw  the  white,  billowy 
clouds  about  all  over  the  sky  and  set  the  loose  boughs  in 
the  hedges  rocking  till  the  small  birds  almost  lost  their 
balance  on  them.  Once  clear  of  the  town  and  away  in  the 
open  country,  where  they  struck  across  by  the  footpath  over 
the  rolling  hills,  Bernard  and  Lydia  walked  and  ran  alter- 
nately like  children  out  in  play  hours,  racing  each  other, 
running  straight  up  hill,  slipping  sometimes  and  rolling  on 
the  short,  straight,  shiny  grass,  catching  each  other  up, 
laughing,  chattering  and  kissing  with  a  breathless  delight  in 
each  other  and  in  Life. 

They  got  back  to  the  farm  well  within  the  limits  of  time 
they  had  set  themselves  and  no  one  had  as  yet  returned.  Lydia 
went  round  to  the  back  entrance  and  was  let  in  by  old  Betsey. 
"Is  it  all  right,  dearie?"  asked  the  old  woman,  rather  anx- 
iously, looking  up  into  the  girl's  radiant  face,  where  natural 
beauty  was  glorified  by  youth,  health  and  triumphant, 
gratified  love. 

"Quite  right,  Betsey,"  she  answered  in  a  whisper.  " Look 
here,"  and  she  tore  off  her  glove  and  showed  the  bright 
massive  ring  on  her  finger  with  pride;  "this  will  have  to 
go  in  here,"  she  added  with  a  gay  laugh,  tapping  her  breast, 
"but  you  know  it's  there!" 

"That's  good,  dearie,  you  are  a  bonny  bride  sure  enough, 
and  that's  a  fine  ring,"  the  old  woman  answered,  divided 
between  admiration  of  the  ring  and  its  wearer.  Then  she 
looked  behind  her  nervously  into  the  house  and  advised 
the  girl  to  run  up  and  change  into  an  old  dress,  tousle  her 
hair  a  bit,  and  take  the  broom  into  the  front  parlour,  where 
she  was  still  duly  sweeping  and  dusting  when  she  heard 
the  Andersons  drive  up  to  the  door. 

Lydia  paused  in  her  work,  listening  and  leaning  with 
both  hands  on  the  broom  that  she  had  been  banging  about 
with,  rather  recklessly  and  aimlessly,  her  thoughts  far  away. 
She  heard  Bella's  peevish  voice,  complaining  as  usual,  in  the 
passage. 

"I  am  sorry  for  Bella,"  she  thought  as  she  moved  to  her 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  83 

work  again,  "I  don't  believe  she  will  get  much  fun  in  life. 
It  must  be  a  bother  to  be  so  plain  and  unattractive.  No 
wonder  she  is  usually  cross." 

She  heard  the  footsteps  clattering  past  and  upstairs  and 
pretty  soon  there  was  a  scream  for  her  to  come  up  and 
undress  the  children.  Lydia  obediently  left  the  parlour, 
and  with  the  duster  still  tied  round  her  head  went  upstairs. 

"Put  the  children  into  their  everyday  clothes,"  said  her 
mistress,  sharply,  "and  pinafores,  and  bring  them  down  to 
dinner.  Has  Mr  Chetwynd  come  back  yet?"  she  added 
still  more  sharply. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am.     I  haven't  heard  anybody." 

Mrs  Anderson  went  down  without  any  remark  and  Lydia 
commenced  undressing  and  redressing  the  children.  They 
were  cross  and  tired  and  fretful  after  their  outing  and  the 
sweets  and  cakes  they  had  eaten  at  their  aunt's,  but  Lydia, 
full  to  the  brim  of  her  being  with  a  great  happiness,  could 
not  be  vexed  nor  disturbed.  Her  temper  was  like  satin  and 
could  not  be  ruffled.  In  half  an  hour  she  appeared  in  the 
dining-room  with  her  two  small  charges. 

Bella  and  Mrs  Anderson  were  seated  at  the  table  already 
and  a  minute  later  the  farmer  and  Bernard  came  in  together, 
having  met  at  the  gate.  He  did  not  glance  at  Lydia  but 
began  talking  to  Bella  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  table,  and 
asking  her  how  she  had  enjoyed  herself.  Lydia  took  her 
usual  place  at  the  far  end  of  the  table  and  busied  herself  with 
cutting  bread  for  the  children.  Dinner  progressed  smoothly 
enough  for  a  time  and  was  nearly  over  and  the  children 
dismissed,  when  Mrs  Anderson  suddenly  looked  down  the 
table  and  inquired,  "Did  anyone  come  to  the  farm  yesterday 
afternoon,  Lydia?" 

Lydia  suddenly  addressed,  and  feeling  Bernard's  eyes 
upon  her,  as  he  had  an  excuse  now  for  looking  at  her  since 
all  at  the  table  did  that,  flushed  and  said  merely,  "I  don't 
know,  ma'am." 

"Don't  know,"  harshly  repeated  Mrs  Anderson.  "And 
where  were  you,  pray,  then  if  you  don't  know  ?" 


84  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"I  went  for  a  walk,"  answered  Lydia,  now  quite  scarlet 
and  with  the  moisture  springing  to  her  eyes. 

"Went  for  a  walk — and  who  gave  you  permission  to  go 
out  at  all,  you  idle,  good-for-nothing  hussy?"  returned  Mrs 
Anderson  with  increasing  anger.  Lydia  sent  one  furtive, 
terrified  glance  towards  Bernard.  She  saw  he  had  grown 
as  white  as  the  tablecloth  and  was  now  resolutely  holding 
his  eyes  on  his  plate.  She  knew  his  face  well  enough  to 
recognise  the  bitter  anger  he  was  only  just  able  to  control 
and  she  dreaded  his  self-command  would  not  last. 

"I've  told  you  before  I  won't  have  you  trapezing  about 
the  lanes  alone." 

"She'd  as  like  as  not  someone  with  her  looking  after 
her,"  sneered  Bella,  in  an  undertone. 

"You  be  quiet  till  I  ask  you  to  speak,"  snapped  her 
mother. 

"You're  a  fat,  lazy,  good-for-nothing  baggage,"  con- 
tinued Mrs  Anderson,  passionately,  to  Lydia.  "  Going  out 
the  minute  my  back  is  turned,  the  idea!  That's  what  you 
like;  to  go  sauntering  here  and  sauntering  there,  getting 
the  men  to  look  at  you,  you  greatstout,  brazen-faced  creature." 

Bernard  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"Surely,  Mrs  Anderson,"  he  said  with  a  strained  calm 
and  his  lips  white,  "such  terms  are  not  deserved." 

"What  is  it  to  you,  I  should  like  to  know,  Mr  Chetwynd, 
what  I  say  to  my  servant?"  demanded  Mrs  Anderson, 
turning  on  him,  while  Bella  giggled  across  the  table. 

"Leave  this  room,  Lydia,  at  once,  and  if  you  go  out  of 
the  house  without  my  permission  again  you  go  for  good, 
mind  that." 

Lydia  rose  and  left  the  room  without  a  word,  only  too 
glad  to  get  away.  Bernard  pushed  his  plate  from  him  and 
his  chair  back  with  unconcealed  disgust  and  without  apology 
rose,  took  up  his  hat  and  went  out.  Mrs  Anderson  and 
Bella  got  up  without  finishing  their  dinner — only  the  farmer 
was  left  seated,  and  he  continued  munching  rather  savagely 
at  his  bread  and  cheese  in  silence. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  85 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  Lydia  spent  in  the  linen-room. 
There  was  a  large  quantity  of  sheets  and  other  household 
linen  to  be  darned  and  mended,  and  Mrs  Anderson  shut  her 
in  with  them  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  remarking  she 
couldn't  trust  her.  The  linen-room  was  a  small  square 
place,  lined  all  round  the  walls  with  cupboards,  shelves  and 
presses,  and  had  one  small  window,  opening  with  a  casement 
and  looking  into  the  garden.  Lydia  pushed  the  casement 
open  to  its  fullest  extent  and  then  sat  down  on  the  one  cane 
chair  in  the  centre  of  the  room  to  her  work.  She  was  a 
beautiful  darner  although  she  hated  all  needlework,  having 
inherited  from  her  father  a  useless  and  pernicious  love  of 
books,  reading  and  writing  and  kindred  black  arts,  but 
having  been  obliged  to  sew  ever  since  she  could  remember, 
she  presented  in  this  one  particular  an  instance  of  the  victory 
of  training  over  inherited  instincts,  and  sewed  admirably. 
Bending  over  her  sheet  now  the  needle  flew  in  and  out 
making  an  ornament  of  every  hole.  How  happy  she  was 
shut  up  alone  in  the  quiet  with  her  own  thoughts!  It  was 
true  the  room  was  small  and  very  hot  with  the  sun  beating 
on  to  it,  but  through  the  open  window  came  the  rich  scent 
of  flowers  and  the  delicious  drone  of  the  bees,  recalling  the 
flowers  and  bees  of  that  other  garden  at  Keswick  which  she 
should  never,  never  forget  however  long  she  lived.  Blushes 
and  smiles  stole  over  her  face  as  her  thoughts  flew  from  one 
pleasing  point  to  another,  happy  as  butterflies  flying  from 
blossom  to  blossom  down  a  long,  sunny,  scented  alley. 
What  did  it  matter  that  Mrs  Anderson  called  her  names, 
she  asked  herself,  or  what  any  of  these  stupid,  horrid  people 
round  her  did  or  said  now  that  she  had  this  world  of  en- 
chantment of  her  own  into  which  she  could  retire  and  shut 
the  door  upon  them  all?  She  was  only  sorry  Bernard  had 
upset  himself  so  much  about  it  as  she  saw  he  had.  For  the 
control  he  had  preserved  had  not  deceived  her  and  she  knew 
well  what  it  had  cost  him. 

A  commoner,   less  well-balanced  mind  than  hers  would 
have  been  more  pleased  with  Bernard  had  he  lost  his  temper 


86  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

and  stood  up  openly  in  her  defence,  but  Lydia  was  of  the 
higher  order  that  appreciates  control  and  knows  its  value 
and  how  far  more  strength  of  character  it  requires  than 
demonstration.  Bernard  had  kept  his  self-command  for 
her  she  knew.  It  was  her  dearest  wish  now  that  she  should 
go  with  him  when  he  sailed  for  America  and  that  could  only 
be  carried  out  if  he  had  the  money  in  hand  to  take  her,  and 
for  this  the  greatest  economies  were  necessary.  That  they 
should  both  stay  on  at  the  farm  boarding  and  lodging  free 
was  an  enormous  advantage  to  them,  and  to  stay  would  be 
impossible  once  their  relations  became  known. 

Three  sheets  were  now  mended  and  her  back  was  be- 
ginning to  ache,  sitting  on  the  high,  hard  chair.  The  room 
was  oppressively  hot  and  her  eyes  and  fingers  burned.  She 
got  up  and  leaned  for  a  minute  at  the  open  window,  looking 
out  into  the  garden,  full  of  the  deep  sweet  peace  of  Nature 
given  with  a  lavish  hand  in  the  broad  still  bands  of  golden 
sunlight,  in  the  cool  green  shadows  in  the  heart  of  the  great 
heavy  damask  roses  nodding  on  their  stems.  Lydia  longed 
to  be  out  there  in  the  sweet-scented  shade,  but  she  turned 
back  to  her  work  resolutely,  knowing  escape  into  the  garden 
was  impossible.  Not  quite  uselessly  had  the  undergraduate 
studied  his  Latin  and  Greek  and  read  and  re-read  Horace's 
ode  on  resignation,  for  the  calm  patience  and  endurance, 
the  absence  of  all  fretting  against  an  adverse  destiny  that 
classical  training  lends  to  a  character,  had  been  transmitted 
to  his  daughter  and  enabled  Lydia  now  to  sit  quietly  in  her 
suffocating  little  room  working  patiently  and  wrapping 
herself  up  in  her  own  pleasant  thoughts,  though  she  had 
never  read  Horace  nor  learned  to  repeat  "virtute  me  invol- 
vam." 

The  shadows  lengthened  across  the  garden  as  the  slow 
golden  hours  wore  away  and  Lydia  heard  the  cow-bells 
tinkling  as  the  cattle  came  home  from  the  uplands.  She 
heard,  too,  the  cheerful  rattle  and  clink  of  teacups  and 
spoons  within  the  house  and  wondered  if  she  would  be 
allowed  any  tea.  Suddenly,  without  any  warning,  some 


LIFE'S     SHOP    WINDOW  87. 

small  object  whizzed  past  her  head  from  the  open  window 
and  fell  on  the  floor  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  She 
ran  to  it  and  picked  it  up — a  little  block  of  wood  with  a 
folded  note  attached  to  it  by  some  string.  She  saw  Bernard's 
handwriting  on  it  and  ran  to  the  window  to  see  if  he  were 
near.  But  no,  the  garden  was  empty,  sweetly  peaceful  and 
silent  and  sleepy  as  before.  Standing  near  the  window, 
where  a  soft  air  came  in  and  lifted  the  curls  from  her  moist 
forehead,  she  read  the  note: — 

"DARLING  LITTLE  ONE, — I  am  so  sorry  you  are  shut  up 
all  day.  I've  been  so  angry  I  could  not  do  anything  but 
walk  about  and  think  of  you.  At  dinner  to-day  I  felt  I 
could  kill  them  all  for  abusing  you.  I  don't  think  we  shall 
be  able  to  carry  out  our  idea  after  all,  I  could  not  stand  by 
constantly  and  see  you  bullied.  I  will  tell  them  all  about 
it  and  take  you  away  to-morrow  if  you  like.  Think  it  over. 
It  shall  be  as  you  wish.  I  shall  wait  down  by  the  spring  in 
the  hollow  for  you  this  evening,  but  I  doubt  if  you'll  be  able 
to  get  away.  If  not,  may  I  come  to  your  room,  Lydia 
darling,  to-night,  when  they're  all  asleep  ?  I  will  be  very 
quiet  and  prudent.  If  I  may,  put  your  window  open  to- 
night and  set  the  candle  in  it  when  you  go  to  bed.  Do  let 
me  come.  I  must  talk  to  you.  It  seems  years  since  this 
morning. — Your  own  BERNARD." 

Lydia  finished  reading  the  note  and  then  thrust  it  into 
her  bosom,  refastening  her  dress  carefully.  A  second  after 
the  door  was  unlocked  and  pushed  open.  Bella  put  her 
head  in. 

"Ma  says  you  can  come  down  and  help  get  tea,"  she 
remarked  and  went  downstairs  again.  Lydia  followed,  her 
heart  brimming  with  happiness,  wishing  she  dared  to  sing 
aloud.  As  she  reached  the  lowest  stair  she  glanced  down 
the  narrow  passage  and  saw  the  door  standing  open  into  the 
garden :  an  extraordinary  pleasure  filled  her  as  she  saw  the 
long  yellow  ray  of  sunlight  coming  into  the  hall  and  the 


.88  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

delicious  green  of  the  garden  beyond.  "I  will  wait  down  by 
the  spring  in  the  hollow  for  you  this  evening."  These 
words  were  running  through  her  brain  and  they  sent  a 
shiver  of  excited  joy  through  her  while  all  her  veins  seemed 
like  little  threads  of  fire  in  her  flesh.  She  lingered  for  a 
moment  looking  into  the  loveliness  of  the  evening:  through 
the  door  she  could  see  the  outline  of  blue  hills  in  the  burnished 
haze,  rising  up  over  the  masses  of  almond  bloom  of  the 
orchard  under  which  he  would  be  waiting  for  her  this  evening. 
She  turned  away  towards  the  kitchen  with  a  thrilling  joy 
in  every  fibre,  that  emperors,  artists,  millionaires — any  of 
those  who  labour  to  wring  pleasure  from  life — might  have 
envied  with  despair.  She  was  only  a  village  girl  in  a  cotton 
frock  with  no  possessions  at  all  in  the  world.  She  had  not 
worked  nor  planned  nor  schemed  for  herself.  She  had  just 
simply  laid  her  hand  confidingly  in  Nature's,  wishing  to  be 
led.  She  had  listened  to  Nature's  voice  and  obeyed  her 
commands  unquestioningly  and  this  exquisite,  careless, 
heart-born  joy  was  Nature's  gift  in  return.  She  has  it  in 
her  hand  for  every  mortal  equally.  It  is  a  pity  men  wander 
so  far  from  her  in  their  search  for  happiness.  For  this 
joy  that  Nature  gives  to  youth  is  the  best  of  all.  Life  itself 
has  nothing  more  to  give.  Fight,  struggle,  labour  as  we 
may  in  this  world  for  pleasure,  we  can  never,  at  the  end,  do 
more  than  equal  this.  Never  can  any  pleasure  surpass  the 
first  rushing  fire  of  delight,  of  rapture  in  every  breath  we  draw, 
that  Nature  is  willing  to  give  us  in  our  youth.  To  lose  this, 
to  pass  it  by  in  seeking  for  something  else,  is  to  lose  the 
whole  of  the  best  of  life.  When  Nature  whispered  in  Lydia's 
ear,  "Take  Bernard,"  had  she  looked  in  her  glass  and  said, 
"No,  I  will  wait:  perhaps  my  beauty  will  get  me  more  from 
life,"  she  might  in  many  ways  have  done  prudently  and  well. 
But  she  would  have  lost  that  wild,  free,  spontaneous  happi- 
ness, that  glorious  joy  of  youth  in  life  and  love.  Experiences 
and  the  flying-footed  years  kill  it  for  ever  out  of  the  human 
soul. 

As  soon  as  the  supper  was  cleared  away  that  evening  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  89 

farmer  sat  down  beside  the  fire,  and  putting  on  his  spec- 
tacles gave  himself  over  solemnly  to  perusing  the  paper. 
Mrs  Anderson  sat  knitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  hearth. 
Bella  went  out  of  the  room  with  her  music  and  began  to  play 
in  the  parlour  next  door.  Lydia  sat  for  a  moment  un- 
noticed behind  Mrs  Anderson  and  followed  Bernard's 
figure  with  her  eyes  as  he  strolled  restlessly  about  the  kitchen. 
After  a  minute  or  two  he  sent  one  steady,  compelling  glance 
over  to  her,  then  he  turned  the  door  handle  and  went  out. 
Mrs  Anderson  looked  up,  a  second  after  the  music  next 
door,  with  its  nervous  wrong  notes,  ceased  abruptly.  Mrs 
Anderson  seemed  to  listen  a  moment  and  then  resumed  her 
knitting.  The  passage  beyond  led  equally  to  the  front  of 
the  house,  the  back  garden,  or  the  parlour  next  door,  and 
hearing  the  playing  cease  the  good  lady  imagined  Bernard  had 
entered  the  room,  led  by  the  seductive  siren  strains  within. 
Lydia  knew  better;  she  guessed  that  Bernard  had  gone  to 
the  garden  en  route  for  the  orchard,  and  that  Bella,  hearing 
his  step  in  the  passage,  had  jumped  up  to  look  out  of  the 
window  and  see  which  way  he  went.  She  read  Mrs  Ander- 
son's wrong  deduction  in  her  face  and  thought  it  would  be 
a  propitious  moment  to  make  her  request. 

"Please,  ma'am,"  she  began,  going  over  to  the  hearth, 
"may  I  go  out  for  half  an  hour  when  I've  washed  up  the 
dishes?" 

The  farmer  laid  down  his  paper  and  Mrs  Anderson 
looked  up.  She  was  not  in  a  particularly  bad  temper  just 
then,  and  had  Lydia  been  a  plain  girl  she  would  have  said 
"Yes"  unhesitatingly.  As  she  glanced  up  and  met  the 
girl's  eyes  fully  she  suddenly  changed  her  mind  and  said 
curtly,  "The  idea!  you  going  trapezing  about  in  the  evening. 
What  next!  When  you've  washed  up  the  things  off  you 
go  to  bed,  mind  that." 

The  farmer's  paper  rustled:  his  face  grew  red  and  he 
looked  about  to  speak.  He  also  changed  his  mind  however, 
and  clutching  the  newspaper  in  both  hands  recommenced 
reading  deeply.  Lydia  merely  said,  "Very  well,"  and  went 


90  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

away  to  the  scullery.  The  window  was  open  and  she  moved 
the  dishes  and  pan  on  to  the  table  where  she  could  wash 
them  and  look  out  at  the  same  time  into  the  summer  night. 
It  called  to  her  with  a  thousand  voices,  and  a  thousand  pulses 
and  fibres  in  her  body  called  back  in  response.  How  she 
longed  to  be  out  there  to  flit  across  the  dewy  garden  and  run 
down  those  fragrant  lanes  to  the  orchard.  And  then  to  be 
there  alone  with  him  in  that  wonderful  sweet-scented  dusk, 
and  look  up  through  that  roof  of  milky  bloom  to  see  a  star 
burning  through  here  and  there,  and  to  put  her  hand  down 
in  the  soft  cool  grass,  and  hear  perhaps  a  stoat  rustle  near  by, 
and  so  to  clasp  him,  so  protective,  so  large  and  warm  and  lie 
close,  very  close,  clinging  to  him  in  a  delicious  make-believe 
fear.  Her  hands  moved  on  mechanically,  rapidly  washing 
and  drying  plate  after  plate,  while  her  mind  was  out  in  the 
orchard  with  Bernard.  She  had  meant,  if  she  had  been 
granted  that  half-hour  she  had  asked  for,  not  to  receive  him 
at  all  in  her  room,  shrinking  from  the  idea  of  doing  anything 
in  Mrs  Anderson's  house  of  which  she  did  not  know  and 
approve,  but  now  she  would  put  her  light  in  the  window. 
Why  should  she  sacrifice  Bernard  who  loved  her  to  this 
woman  who,  for  her  own  pleasure,  tormented  her?  She 
soon  had  all  the  china  washed  and  in  a  neat  pile.  She  dried 
her  hands  on  her  apron  and  then  ran  upstairs  and  locked 
herself  in  her  room.  The  casement  stood  open  and  the 
sweet  breath  of  the  summer  with  its  subtle  intoxication,  its 
whispering  mystery,  filled  the  little  room.  With  soft,  eager 
fingers  she  lighted  her  candle  and  set  it  on  the  window-sill. 


CHAPTER  VI 

To  those  who  have  studied  the  marvellous  physiological 
effect  upon  the  female  human  being  of  love  and  joy,  the 
change  that  came  over  Lydia  at  this  time  will  only  be  a 
familiar  and  to-be-expected  result.  Where  her  beauty  had 
been  brightly  attractive  before,  it  was  now  radiantly  in- 
sistent. The  dull  yokels  paused  to  stare  after  her  as  she 
crossed  the  farmyard,  and  people  who  passed  her  on  the 
road  to  the  village  turned  their  heads  to  look  back  at  her  and 
smiled.  Up  in  her  own  little  room,  that  had  become  such 
a  shrine  of  strange  enchantment  and  delight,  the  girl  saw 
her  own  face  given  back  to  her  by  the  small  square  of  glass 
with  a  sort  of  wonder  not  wholly  unmixed  with  alarm. 
Surely  her  secret  would  be  read  in  those  sparkling  eyes  and 
rosy  smiles.  She  often  pushed  back  the  silky  vine-like  curls 
of  hair  from  her  face  and  pulled  down  her  hat  and  put  on  her 
most  quiet  dress  to  make  herself  look  plainer.  Still  she 
could  not  fail  to  escape  the  attention  and  censorious  wonder 
of  her  female  neighbours.  The  pew-opener's  wife,  Mrs 
Robbins,  thought  it  her  duty  to  call  and  remonstrate  with 
Mrs  Anderson  at  the  farm.  "I  wonder  you  have  that 
great  flaming,  flaunting  beauty  on  the  place.  Looks  like 
them  ain't  decent.  That's  what  I  call  it,"  she  expostulated, 
getting  a  little  confused  in  her  speech  from  her  righteous 
indignation.  "So  different  from  a  nice  sober-faced  girl  like 
your  Bella." 

"Bella's  a  lady,"  replied  Mrs  Anderson,  with  dignity, 
not  over  pleased  with  Mrs  Robbins 's  last  remark,  she  could 
not  exactly  tell  why,  and  then  added  sharply,  "I  can't  help 
the  girl  being  good-looking,  can  I  ?" 

91 


92  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"That  much  of  good  looks  ain't  respectable,  it  don't 
look  right  somehow,  everybody'll  tell  you  the  same,  Mrs 
Anderson,  they  good  looks  never  was  amongst  respectable 
people  and  never  will  be." 

"The  girl  is  as  respectable  as  any  of  us,"  asserted  Mrs 
Anderson,  with  some  asperity.  She  might  not  like  the  girl 
any  too  well  herself,  but  since  she  was  her  servant  her  respec- 
tability became  a  matter  of  personal  responsibility  for  Mrs 
Anderson,  and  she  would  no  more  hear  it  questioned  than 
the  condition  of  her  pigs. 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  returned  Mrs  Bobbins,  dubiously 
shaking  her  head,  "but  if  she's  not  fallen  from  grace  yet, 
she  be  going  to  fall  pretty  soon,  that's  sure." 

"Time  enough  to  talk  when  the  time  comes,"  returned 
Mrs  Anderson,  briefly.  "The  girl's  a  good  servant  and  here 
she  stays  till  I  know  there's  anything  wrong,  and  then  out 
she  goes." 

Nevertheless  conversations  and  remarks  like  these  had 
their  effect  in  making  Mrs  Anderson  look  closely  and  sharply 
after  the  girl,  but  so  far  not  the  faintest  suspicion  of  the  real 
state  of  affairs  dawned  upon  her.  Watch  her  as  she  might 
she  could  never  detect  any  covert  glances  between  Lydia 
and  Bernard,  while  his  manner  to  her  remained  always  the 
frank,  polite  indifference  of  the  guest  of  the  house  to  the 
servant  of  the  house.  Lydia  was  practically  allowed  no 
holidays  now,  and  no  walks,  except  Sunday  afternoon, 
which  the  farmer  had  insisted  should  be  allowed  to  her  to 
spend  as  she  chose  without  restraint.  Mrs  Anderson 
usually  asked  Bella  to  take  the  younger  children  out,  and 
kept  Lydia  with  her  working  in  kitchen,  scullery  or  linen- 
room,  sometimes  on  happy  occasions  in  the  garden,  but 
always  close  under  her  own  eye,  and  Lydia,  docile,  cheerful, 
willing,  quick  and  deft  with  her  work,  and  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  it,  gave  her  no  possible  ground  for  suspicion. 

That  every  night,  after  midnight,  when  all  the  toil- 
weary  farm  was  asleep,  Bernard  noiselessly  left  his  room 
and  passed  up  to  the  top  of  the  house  and  then  ascended 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  93 

the  narrow,  rickety  flight  of  wooden  stairs,  to  the  attic  in 
the  roof  where  his  wife  awaited  him,  and  in  the  first  faint 
glimmer  of  the  dawn  returned  to  his  own  room,  where  at 
six  o'clock  he  answered  sleepily  to  the  summons  to  get  up, 
would  hardly  have  been  believed  by  Mrs  Anderson  had  it  been 
actually  related  to  her.  For  her  mind  had  received  a  certain 
impression  from  what  she  saw :  it  had  made  itself  up  in  fact. 
And  the  human  mind  is  a  funny  thing.  It  reminds  one  of  a 
wooden  image  with  two  fixed  eyes  that  can  see  straight 
before  them  but  cannot  turn  in  their  sockets. 

Consequently  when  any  object  stands  in  front  of  it,  it 
sees  just  that  aspect  of  it,  just  that  side  that  is  directly 
opposite  to  it  and  no  other.  There  things  remain  till  a 
hand  comes  along  and,  giving  the  image  a  tremendous  punch 
on  one  side  or  the  other,  sends  it  reeling  into  a  new  position, 
where  it  finds  itself  opposite  another  side  of  the  object  it 
has  been  staring  at  so  long.  It  then  for  the  first  time  realises 
that  there  is  another  side!  Mrs  Anderson's  mind  was  of 
the  wooden  image  order,  and  having  got  its  vision  fixed 
towards  Bernard  and  Lydia's  conduct  to  each  other  in  public 
there  it  rested,  for  as  yet  no  hand  had  come  along  with  a 
buffet  to  make  it  see  differently. 

Bella  was  watchful  and  dully  suspicious,  but  instinc- 
tively, she  could  not  base  nor  prove  her  fears,  even  to  herself, 
and  not  even  remotely  did  the  extremity  to  which  things 
had  actually  arrived  pass  before  her  as  a  possibility. 

Of  course  they  might  have  been  discovered,  and  it  was 
perhaps  because  they  were  not  in  any  great  dread  of  dis- 
covery that  luck  favoured  them.  It  was  more  convenient 
indeed  that  things  should  go  on  for  a  little  while  as  they 
were;  but  still,  since  that  folded  paper,  her  marriage  cer- 
tificate, lay  on  the  girl's  breast,  she  really  would  have  cared 
very  little  had  an  army  marched  into  the  room  and  found 
her  in  Bernard's  arms.  The  situation  was  not  without  a 
touch  of  amusement,  of  delight,  in  it. 

Sunday  afternoon  constituted  their  greatest  danger, 
but  the  Sunday  fare  was  heavy  and  the  whole  household 


94  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

generally  slept  after  it.  Even  Bella  went  away  to  her  own 
room.  Lydia  always  left  the  house  alone,  walking  down 
the  open  high  road,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  Mrs  Anderson 
that  two  people  who  never  seemed  to  seek  each  other's 
society  within  the  house,  would  plan  so  wilily  to  meet  outside. 

So  the  game  of  life  was  played  successfully  and  with 
intense  delight  by  the  two  most  energetic  players  at  least, 
day  by  day,  in  the  farm,  and  the  glorious  golden  summer 
glided  on  with  its  long  delicious  days  and  its  violet-scented, 
mysterious,  light-filled  nights. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  and  absolute  quiet  lay  over 
Anderson's  Farm.  A  great  peace  and  stillness  brooded 
over  all  the  furred  and  feathered  things  that  made  up  that 
small  world,  for  man,  the  brute  tyrant  that  ruled  over  them, 
was  lying,  gorged  with  his  Sunday  meal,  within  closed  doors, 
and  in  his  blest  absence  there  was  peace.  Some  little  dis- 
tance from  the  house  itself  stood  the  hayricks,  magnificent 
piles  of  rich  yellow  colour,  in  all  its  shades,  from  the  bright 
gold  of  long-cut  hay  to  the  light  saffron  green  of  the  new 
last  added  stack.  By  the  hayricks  ran  the  shallow,  sparkling 
brooklet,  the  same  that  had  its  source  in  the  shaded  hollow 
under  the  almond  boughs.  The  bed  of  the  stream  was 
sandy  with  deeper  hollows  and  depressions  in  it,  forming  a 
series  of  little  baths,  just  big  enough  for  a  bird  bather.  And 
to  this  brooklet  a  large  bird  club  belonged,  and  here  they 
used  to  flock  and  congregate  on  quiet  summer  afternoons, 
when  the  hot  sunshine  made  the  shallow,  daintily-trickling 
water  warm  as  the  air  itself.  Here  they  came  to  bathe  in 
all  their  beauty  of  bright  colouring,  of  soft  plumage  and 
little  singing  throats.  The  bullfinches  first,  the  male  birds 
with  their  pink  breasts  like  a  tiny  cloud  from  the  evening 
sky  caught  in  its  rosiest  tint,  and  their  glossy,  black -capped 
heads,  and  close  after  them  the  tomtits  in  their  exquisite 
richness  of  blue  and  gold  plumage,  and  then  the  dainty 
chaffinches  and  the  fat,  dappled  thrushes  with  their  large 
wide-open  eyes,  goldfinch,  robin  and  wren  and  blackbird 
all  belonged  to  the  club  and  all  came  down  in  their  tens  and 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  95 

twenties  to  the  brook  to  bathe  and  sing  and  plume  and 
chatter  when  man  was  safely  out  of  the  way.  Anderson 
well  knew,  as  a  fruit-grower,  the  value  of  these  little  feathered 
flocks,  and  not  one  was  allowed  to  be  shot  or  snared  on  his 
land,  while  the  bird-nester  or  egg-stealer,  if  caught,  was 
liable  to  be  thrashed  unforgetably  by  the  irate  farmer. 
The  other  farmers  round  held  generally  contrary  views, 
and  shot,  netted  and  snared  unmercifully;  but  Anderson's 
Farm,  as  far  as  he  could  make  it  so,  was  a  realm  of  safety 
for  the  birds  and  they  flocked  to  it  from  the  country  round. 
Richly  wooded  and  timbered  as  part  of  the  land  was,  and 
largely  given  over  to  masses  of  fruit  trees,  the  birds  built  and 
nested  in  undisturbed  joy  and  security,  and  all  through  the 
summer  the  air  was  laden  with  their  rapturous  trilling  and 
carolling.  Every  hedgerow,  every  bush,  was  full  of  the 
flutter  of  wings,  the  sound  of  joyous  notes.  Anderson  held 
his  own  views  on  this  subject,  and  as  he  tramped  over  his 
fields  and  through  his  lanes  and  orchards  year  by  year, 
looking  about  him  with  open  eyes,  he  saw  no  need  to  modify 
them.  Great  was  the  raillery  fired  upon  him  as  he  sat 
placidly  smoking  in  the  Red  Lion  inn,  through  a  summer 
evening,  sometimes  in  the  fruit-selling  season:  many  were 
the  jeers  hurled  at  him  for  his  love  of  his  pets. 

"No,  they  ain't  no  pets,"  he  would  reply  calmly,  "them's 
my  little  under-gardeners,  and  active,  hardworking  little 
devils  they  be  too." 

"But,  man  alive,  they  pull  your  fruit  to  pieces.  Why, 
you  must  have  lost  a  quarter  of  your  crop  through  them." 

"Well,  I'm  not  one  as  expects  my  gardeners  to  work  for 
nothing,"  serenely  rejoined  the  other;  "that's  their  pay  for 
all  the  work  they've  done,  all  the  grubs  they've  killed,  all 
the  caterpillars  and  the  blights  they've  kept  my  trees  from. 
A  quarter  of  the  crop,  that's  their  pay  for  the  three  quarters 
they  keep  whole  and  sound  for  me,  their  pay,  I  say,  and  I 
don't  grudge  it." 

Laughter  rang  round  the  inn,  but  Anderson  sat  on  un- 
moved finishing  his  smoke.  Going  home  that  evening  he 


96  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

took  a  long  turn  round,  passing  through  the  farm  lands  of 
his  neighbours.  Not  a  bird  did  he  see,  nor  hear  a  note,  but 
there  was  other  life  and  plenty  of  it.  Green  blight,  in 
countless  thousands,  clinging  to  the  rose  stems,  armies  of 
black  slugs  on  parade  in  the  cabbage  patches,  and  as  he 
peered  about  under  leaves  and  between  boughs,  many 
insects  whose  long,  high-sounding  names  are  entered  in  the 
farmer's  calendar  as  dangerous  and  destructive,  met  his 
amused  and  twinkling  eyes.  Suspicious  round  holes  in 
various  plants  and  whole  trees  covered  with  dusty  cocoons, 
in  place  of  young  green  leaves,  were  also  noted,  and  finally 
he  took  the  path  leading  to  his  own  homestead  with  a  satis- 
fied smile  on  his  lips.  And  his  orchards  with  their  blaze  of 
bloom  and  thei*  whole  sound  trees,  his  roses,  vegetables, 
hay  and  crops  were  undeniably  the  finest  in  the  country 
round.  So  the  birds  throve,  making  good  their  very  pleasant 
existence,  and  justifying  the  excellent  character  the  farmer 
gave  them.  The  bird  club  was  formed  in  an  old  elm  that 
grew  near  the  hayricks,  conveniently  close  to  the  bathing 
place,  and  a  hawthorn  bush  and  some  fine  may  trees  grow- 
ing close  by  made  a  commodious  concert  room,  where  the 
young  birds  were  taken  after  their  bath  to  try  their  first  notes 
and  practise  their  singing.  This  afternoon  the  gathering 
was  larger  than  usual  for  the  weather  had  been  particularly 
hot  and  dry  for  a  long  time,  culminating  in  the  hottest  day 
of  all,  and  every  bird  longed  for  the  coolness  of  the  tinkling 
brook  and  left  his  hunting,  his  fly-catching  or  nest-building 
for  a  bath  and  a  gossip. 

Lydia  and  Bernard  lay  side  by  side  in  one  of  the  hay- 
stacks where  a  great  slice  of  hay  had  been  cut  out,  leaving 
a  most  comfortable  ledge,  with  the  wall  of  sweet-smelling 
hay  going  up  straight  on  two  sides  of  it.  She  was  watching 
the  birds  as  they  bathed  themselves  so  merrily  in  the  spark- 
ling shallow  stream,  paddling  incessantly  backwards  and 
forwards  on  the  bright  gravel,  gossiping  amongst  themselves 
all  the  time. 

She  was  lying  flat  on  her  chest,  looking  over  the  edge  of 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  97 

the  stack,  and  Bernard  watched  her.  A  thick,  dark  curl 
of  her  loose  hair  fell  over  her  shoulder  and  the  blood  mounted 
into  the  clear,  well-carved  cheek  as  she  leant  her  head  for- 
ward. His  eyes  were  fed  with  delighted  pleasure  as  he  looked. 

"Bernard,"  she  said,  after  a  minute's  pause  in  their 
talk,  still  watching  the  birds,  "something  is  the  matter  with 
me.  I  am  not  well." 

"Not  well,  darling,"  said  Bernard,  electrified,  sitting  up 
suddenly.  "Why,  what  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Well,  I  feel  so  dreadfully  ill  in  the  mornings  now  and 
not  a  bit  inclined  to  get  up  and  work  as  I  used,  and  some- 
times in  the  kitchen,  oh,  I  feel  so  odd,  as  if  I  should  faint. 
I  can't  understand  it.  I  hare  never  felt  like  it  in  my  life 
before.  What  do  you  think  it  is?" 

Bernard  leant  back  against  the  stack  again  and  his  face 
had  become  very  grave.  He  did  not  answer  for  a  minute, 
then  he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist  and  leaning  over  her 
asked  her  first  one  question  and  then  another,  which  she 
answered  simply,  directly,  unthinkingly,  her  thoughts  half 
with  the  bathing  birds  and  half  in  her  replies.  When  Ber- 
nard had  finished  his  questions  there  was  a  long  silence 
between  them,  and  looking  up  suddenly  Lydia  was  alarmed 
at  the  look  on  his  face.  She  did  not  understand  it. 

"Why,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  she  asked,  startled. 
"Do  you  think  there  is  anything  serious  ?" 

"I  think  it  means,  darling,  that  you  are  going  to  have  a 
child,"  he  said,  drawing  her  to  him  firmly  with  one  hand  and 
passing  the  other  round  her  smooth,  supple  waist.  He  was 
afraid  she  would  burst  into  tears:  he  vaguely  expected  her 
to  be  displeased,  and  any  grief  that  touched  her  he  felt 
would  go  through  his  own  heart  and  wound  him  terribly. 

Lydia  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  as  if  not  realising  what 
he  said,  then  suddenly  she  gave  a  low,  joyous  laugh. 

"No  ?  You  don't  mean  it  really,  do  you  ?  Oh,  Bernard, 
how  delightful:  don't  you  think  it's  lovely  ?" 

Bernard,  confused,  surprised,  ashamed  now  of  his  own 
doubts  of  her,  pressed  her  closer. 


98  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Yes,  indeed,  but  I  was  afraid — 

"Of  what?"  she  asked,  looking  up. 

"Why,  that  you  might  be  distressed  or  sorry." 

"How  could  I  be  sorry  to  have  a  child  by  you?"  she 
asked.  Her  tones  were  full  of  caresses,  her  eyes  met  his  full 
of  light  and  love  and  sunny  pleasure,  her  fingers  smoothed 
lightly  the  hair  above  his  forehead.  The  beauty  and  se- 
duction of  the  woman  beside  him  vibrated  through  Bernard 
till  he  felt  his  whole  body  full  of  an  intensity  of  feeling  that 
was  like  acute  pain,  and  the  beggar's  curse  on  him  came 
back  with  a  strange,  prophetic  warning.  She  was  so  lovely, 
was  it  possible  that  he  could  content  her  always,  keep  her 
for  ever  for  his  own  ? 

Still,  nothing  could  link  her  more  to  him  than  this,  that 
he  would  be  the  father  of  her  child,  and  when  she  asked  him 
again  if  he  were  pleased,  he  kissed  her  fiercely  with  a  des- 
perate, jealous  passion  of  the  future,  pressing  her  back  on 
the  hay  beside  him  and  bruising  her  lips  and  cheeks.  But 
she  only  laughed  as  the  sharp  hay-stalks  stuck  into  the  back 
of  her  head  and  scratched  her  neck,  and  pushed  him  back 
from  her  with  both  her  hands  leaning  on  his  chest,  and  then 
tore  out  some  loose  handfuls  of  hay  from  the  edge  of  the 
stack  and  pelted  him  with  them,  tossing  them  lightly  into  his 
face  as  he  bent  over  her  to  kiss  her. 

"I  am  so  happy,  so  glad,"  she  murmured.  "I  never 
thought  about  that  somehow:  not  that  it  would  be  so 
soon,  but  I  am  pleased.  It's  so  interesting — don't  you 
think  so?" 

Bernard  laughed.  "I  am  very  glad,"  he  said  softly; 
"but  I  am  sorry  you  should  suffer  and  feel  ill." 

"Oh,  but  I  sha'n't  now  that  I  knotv,  don't  you  see?  It 
makes  all  the  difference.  I  sha'n't  mind  one  little  bit  how 
I  feel  now  you've  told  me.  It  will  be  such  fun  to  have  a 
baby  to  play  with;  it  will  be  just  like  you,  I  hope,  you  in 
miniature,  and  it  will  be  so  pretty  and  laugh." 

"Perhaps  it  will  be  ugly  and  cry,"  interrupted  Bernard, 
teasingly. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  99 

"My  baby  will  never  cry  and  it  must  be  beautiful,"  she 
answered  proudly,  conscious  of  her  superb  health. 

"More  than  possible,"  returned  Bernard,  laughing,  and 
Lydia  fell  into  a  silent  reverie.  She  was  so  much  Nature's 
own  child,  with  such  complete  belief  in  the  goodness  of  that 
great  mother,  of  whom  indeed  she  had  nothing  to  complain, 
that  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  question,  to  doubt,  or  to  fear. 
She  stood  with  open  hands,  and  when  any  gift  was  put 
into  them  she  accepted  it  with  joy  and  amusement,  as  a  child 
a  new  toy.  Of  such  indeed  are  the  happy  in  this  world. 

"Perhaps  you  will  love  it  more  than  you  do  me,"  Bernard 
said  after  a  minute,  with  a  sombre  jealousy  of  tone. 

"Never,"  she  answered,  a  hot  damask  blush  sweeping 
up  to  her  forehead  and  her  eyes  kindling.  "I  shall  always 
love  you  best,"  and  she  flung  her  arms  round  him  and  they 
lay  close  together  in  the  warm,  sunburnt  hay.  Splash  and 
twitter  and  song  came  from  the  bathing  birds  and  song 
from  all  the  trees  and  hedges  and  bushes  near,  while  from 
above  the  liquid,  passionate  notes  of  a  lark  dropped  down 
upon  them  out  of  the  dome  of  blue  above,  where  he  mounted, 
invisible,  singing,  the  leader  of  all  this  wondrous  choir,  and 
the  song  they  sang  again  and  again  was  always  the  same 
with  a  thousand  variations — the  song  of  love.  They  also 
were  Nature's  children.  The  gold  afternoon  passed  on  into 
a  still  breathless  evening,  and  as  the  great  cool  shadows  sloped 
across  the  fields  Lydia  rose  to  go  home,  shaking  the  hay  from 
her  dress  and  pulling  the  burry  sticks  from  her  hair.  A 
clock  far  off  struck,  warning  her  that  it  was  unwise  to  linger 
with  him  then.  As  she  came  home,  walking  slowly  through 
the  golden  glory  of  the  sunlit  fields,  she  began  to  sing  softly 
to  herself,  thinking  how  good  it  was  to  live,  to  see  this  beauty 
of  ripening  corn,  and  hear  the  larks  sing  and  breathe  in  this 
soft  shining  air,  how  good  is  was  to  feel  the  bounding  strength 
in  every  limb  and  muscle,  and  how  good  to  be  loved,  desired, 
valued  by  that  great  handsome  thing  she  had  left  by  the 
hayricks,  and  how  good  to  have  this  new  strange  interest, 
this  life  within  her  own.  As  she  crossed  the  last  field,  walk- 


100  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

ing  in  the  narrow  little  path  that  ran  through  the  rippling 
corn,  two  malignant  eyes  watched  her  steadily  from  an 
upper  window  under  the  gable  of  the  farm.  Bella,  full  of 
furious  envy  and  misery,  stood  at  the  open  window  and  had 
seen  her  when  she  first  entered  the  field.  As  the  figure 
came  nearer,  graceful,  exquisite,  with  the  sun  full  on  the 
brilliant,  handsome  face,  and  a  rich  cluster  of  scarlet  flowers 
at  the  bosom,  she  scanned  it  closely,  and  seeing  the  radiant 
light  and  joy  in  the  face,  felt  not  only  envy  but  wonder. 
What  made  this  girl  happy,  while  she,  Bella,  was  always 
so  dully  miserable  ? 

Bella  answered  to  herself  with  savage  rebellion  that  it 
was  her  beauty.  But  it  was  not  only  that,  it  was  rather  her 
temperament:  gay,  loving,  lovable,  receptive  of  all  sensuous 
joy,  with  an  eye  delighting  in  loveliness,  Lydia  would  have 
been  happy  without  beauty  and  her  face  would  still  have  been 
radiant  with  light  as  she  crossed  that  field  and  looked  round 
her,  drinking  in  all  the  wonder  of  the  world  and  the  delight 
of  her  youth.  Bella  plodded  backwards  and  forwards 
across  the  fields,  never  caring,  never  heeding,  blind  to  all 
their  beauty,  deaf  to  their  wonderful  harmonies.  The 
intoxication,  the  exultation  of  youth  when  it  looks  round 
upon  life — its  inheritance,  with  all  its  possibilities,  all  its 
wonder,  and  says,  "This  is  mine!"  had  never  come  near 
her.  Her  soul  was  but  a  blind,  half -formed  grub  within  her 
body,  and  for  her,  and  the  thousands  of  which  she  is  but  the 
type,  life  could  never  have  any  charm  nor  love  any  joy. 

Suddenly  a  dark  shadow  fell  on  Lydia's  path,  who  for  a 
moment  had  been  looking  down,  tenderly,  interestedly,  at 
the  blue  bird's-eye  flowers  that  grew  on  the  edge  of  the  corn. 
She  looked  up  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Bella, 
and  saw  her  face  was  working  with  anger. 

"Where  have  you  been,  you  dressed-up  minx?"  she 
said  in  a  fierce,  low  tone,  for  her  father  might  be  in  the  next 
field,  and  before  Lydia  had  time  to  answer  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  snatched  the  flowers  by  their  heads  from  the 
girl's  bosom,  and  so  roughly  that  she  burst  open  the  bodice. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  101 

In  her  dull,  angry  brain  she  confused  the  flowers  with  the 
girl's  beauty,  and  she  threw  them  down  on  the  path  and 
ground  them  into  the  damp  soil  with  her  heel.  Lydia  drew 
back  a  pace  and  stood  looking  at  her  with  her  eyes  wide  open 
and  full  of  scorn,  then  something  struck  her  in  the  other's 
face,  something  so  hopeless,  so  despairing,  that  she  forgot 
herself.  Wonder  and  sympathy  banished  the  retort  from 
her  lips  and  the  scorn  from  her  glance.  She  stood  still  in  the 
pathway  while  the  other  watched  her  with  her  savage, 
fox-like  eyes. 

"Why  are  you  so  against  me,  Bella?"  she  said  at  last. 

"Why  are  you  always  sneaking  after  Mr  Chetwynd?" 
Bella  rejoined,  her  face  white  and  convulsed,  and  the  freckles 
standing  out  in  its  pallor  like  livid  patches.  "Do  you  want 
him  to  marry  you,  you  little  ape  ?  Do  you  think  he'd  look 
at  you,  a  common  farm-servant  without  a  penny  ?  " 

Anger  and  amusement  struggled  together  in  Lydia's 
mind  at  her  words,  but  she  let  neither  of  them  be  visible. 
Pity  for  the  obvious  suffering  before  her  was  her  dominant 
feeling.  And  it  is  the  sign  of  a  great  nature  when  its  sym- 
pathy can  conquer  every  other  feeling,  and  no  insult,  abuse 
nor  enmity  can  lessen  its  indulgence  to  suffering.  She  under- 
stood quite  well  that  she  and  this  other  girl  had  both  looked 
into  Life's  shop  window  together  and  unfortunately  had 
both  coveted  and  chosen  the  same  toy,  namely  that  large, 
fat-stuffed-bodied  doll  with  the  gold-brown  hair.  She, 
Lydia,  had  had  the  money  to  buy  it  with  and  this  other  girl 
had  not.  She  saw  that  this  other  girl  should  have  been 
contented  with  one  of  the  cheaper  toys,  for  the  village  doctor, 
the  master  dairyman,  and  several  young  farmer  dolls  were 
in  the  window  too,  and  her  banknotes  of  youth  and  strength 
and  social  position  in  the  village  might  have  been  enough  to 
buy  her  any  one  of  these;  but  Lydia  felt  how  that  one  big 
doll  had  dragged  her  eyes  from  all  else  in  the  window,  and 
whether  Bella's  resentment  at  not  being  able  to  get  it  was 
just  or  not,  she  sympathised  with  it.  Besides,  where  is  the 
justice  of  Fate  that  gives  beauty  to  one  girl  and  so  all  that 


102  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

the  world  can  give,  and  withholds  it  from  another,  so  with- 
holding all  else  ? 

"I  don't  think  we  need  quarrel  over  Mr  Chetwynd,"  she 
replied  quietly,  and  as  the  other  did  not  answer,  but  moved 
a  little  aside  from  her  path,  she  went  on  and  into  the  house 
to  lay  the  tea. 

That  night  was  one  of  those  summer  nights  when  merely 
to  live  means  an  intoxication  of  every  sense,  when  the  fires 
of  youth  run  mad  in  the  veins  and  even  the  old  feel  the 
winter  depths  of  their  being  stirred.  Bernard  sat  at  his 
table,  staring  down  at  a  letter  lying  on  it,  and  reading,  with 
knit  brows. 

"  Come  at  once,  but  don't  bring  your  wife  nor  any  woman 
kind  with  you.  The  place  is  too  dangerous  and  will  be  for 
the  present.  Six  months  will  make  a  lot  of  difference  as  the 
settling  up  is  going  on  rapidly." 

He  got  up  and  walked  restlessly  about  the  room.  How 
he  hated  to  leave  her,  and  yet  since  the  first  time  he  had 
read  that  letter  through  in  the  morning  he  had  known  he 
must  go.  He  was  offered  good  land  cheap  in  Arizona  and 
he  felt  it  was  an  opening  for  him  such  as  he  would  never  have 
in  England.  The  climate  was  good  and  to  him  the  prospect 
of  hard  work  in  a  new  country  was  not  alarming.  He  hated 
to  tell  the  girl  of  an  approaching  separation,  especially  that 
night  of  all  others,  after  what  had  been  said  in  the  morning 
between  them,  but  he  determined  it  was  best  to  face  the 
position  at  once,  and  in  a  wretched  fever  of  suspense  and 
passion  he  stayed  in  his  room,  listening  to  the  sounds  of  the 
household  growing  hushed  one  by  one,  waiting  till  midnight 
had  sounded  and  it  would  be  safe  to  join  her. 

He  delayed  until  she  had  almost  fallen  asleep  in  his  arms, 
but  at  the  first  word  of  parting  she  sprang  up,  all  the  heavy 
sleepiness  of  real  fatigue,  after  a  long  day's  work,  had  fled 
from  her.  She  clung  to  him  with  wide-open  eyes  full  of 
passionate  terror. 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't  go  away  and  leave  me!"  she 
exclaimed  in  a  frightened  whisper.  "Why?" 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  103 

"The  only  reason  is  the  danger  for  yourself,"  he  answered, 
trying  to  draw  her  head  down  on  his  breast,  but  she  sat  up 
persistently,  looking  at  him  with  wide,  reproachful  eyes. 

"The  place  is  very  wild  and  rough  at  present,  and  full 
of  Indians — bands  of  them  pass  through  the  country  con- 
stantly— the  settlers  are  driving  them  out  fast  but  the  work 
is  not  done  yet." 

"But  I  don't  care.  I  will  take  all  the  risk  and  danger 
rather  than  be  parted." 

"The  responsibility  of  taking  you  there  would  be  too 
great,"  he  answered.  "I  have  thought  it  all  out,  darling, 
and  decided  the  question.  I  cannot  take  you  with  me." 

He  did  not  tell  her  the  bitter  struggle  he  had  had  with 
himself  over  that  decision,  nor  the  pain  he  had  suffered. 
Had  he  done  so  he  would  have  soothed  and  comforted  her, 
and  induced  a  resignation  that  no  mere  reasoning  could 
bring  about,  but  being  a  man,  great  blundering  idiots  as 
they  all  of  them  are,  with  no  real  skill  to  play  upon  the 
delicate,  many-stringed  harp  a  woman  puts  into  their  hands 
when  she  gives  them  her  love,  he  passed  over  the  really 
important  part,  his  own  grief,  his  own  feelings,  in  silence, 
and  talked  to  her  of  practical  detail  and  the  practical  ad- 
vantages of  staying  behind,  till  Lydia  sat  up  suddenly  beside 
him  with  a  sort  of  smothered,  whispered  scream  and  both 
hands  clasped  over  her  ears. 

"Don't,  don't,"  she  said,  "I  won't  hear  any  more.  I 
want  to  come  with  you.  I  don't  care  what  happens.  I 
may  as  well  be  killed  by  Indians  as  hang  myself  here.  You 
talk  of  the  dangers  there!  You  don't  know  what  dangers 
there  are  here.  Take  me  with  you.  You  will  regret  it  if 
you  make  us  separate  now." 

He  looked  at  her  as  she  sat  up  beside  him  in  the  white 
light  of  the  moon-filled  room,  softened  by  the  white  blind 
drawn  over  the  panes,  and  caught  the  beauty  of  the  outlines 
of  nose  and  chin  of  her  half-averted  face.  It  spoke  to  him 
more  than  her  words  and  great  flames  of  passion  seemed 
round  his  heart  devouring  it.  He  longed  to  keep  her  and 


104  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

take  her  with  him :  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  fibres  of  his  body 
would  be  dragged  apart  when  they  separated,  but  the  old 
stupid  habit  of  doing  the  best,  which  is  really  often  the 
worst,  of  looking  ahead  in  one  small  circle,  while  the  wide, 
far  horizon  beyond,  that  should  be  scanned,  is  neglected  and 
forgotten,  clung  to  him.  He  sat  up  too  and  put  his  arms 
round  her  and  kissed  her  warm  neck. 

"Darling,  I  am  only  doing  this  because  I  think  it  is  the 
best." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  if  you  loved  me  you  would  do  what  I 
think  is  best." 

"No,  because  you  don't  know  what  I  should  be  taking 
you  to." 

"Neither  do  you  know  what  you  are  leaving  me  to." 

Both  were  silent.  From  her  brow  to  the  soles  of  her  feet 
the  girl's  body  throbbed  with  angry,  passionate  pulses:  all 
the  love  and  passion  she  felt  for  this  man  rose  in  a  storm  of 
resentment  and  indignation  at  his  threatened  loss.  After 
a  moment  she  turned  to  him  and  put  both  arms  round  his 
neck. 

"Please  take  me  with  you,"  she  said  softly,  "you  know 
how  strong  I  am.  I  will  work  and  take  care  of  you  and 
myself  both.  I  love  you  so  much  now.  I  shall  never  love 
you  so  much  again.  Let  us  stay  with  each  other  and  enjoy 
our  love  as  we  have  done  and  face  everything  together." 

Bernard  held  her  tightly  in  a  tense  silence.  She  was 
everything  to  him  then.  His  whole  world  was  now  enclosed 
in  this  soft  living  body,  in  this  gentle  loving  heart.  All  his 
life  had  never  given  him  the  joy  her  arms  had  brought  him. 
It  seemed  as  if  it  would  be  like  death  itself  to  tear  himself 
from  her.  Almost  he  yielded,  a  flood  of  relief  and  happiness 
seemed  to  swell  up  within  him  and  press  against  his  lips, 
forcing  them  to  say,  "Come  then,  come  with  me."  But  he 
restrained  it.  All  his  man's  obstinacy,  all  his  sense  of  duty, 
ridiculous  because  where  a  woman  is  concerned  generally 
erroneous,  clung  to  him,  strangling  the  real  wisdom,  the 
wisdom  of  impulse,  of  instinct.  He  thought  for  a  moment 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  105 

what  would  be  the  best  argument  to  induce  her  to  stay 
behind,  and  with  his  knowledge  of  her  unselfish  character 
selected  at  last  the  very  best. 

"You  see,  dearest,"  he  said  gently,  "I  shall  have  my 
hands  full  even  if  I  go  alone.  The  work  and  worry  will  be 
enormous.  If  you  came  the  feeling  of  responsibility,  the 
anxiety,  would  make  things  ten  times  worse  for  me.  The 
strain  would  be  perhaps  more  than  I  could  stand.  I  shall 
be  more  free,  more  able  to  look  out  for  myself,  more  able  to 
concentrate  myself  on  the  work  and  stand  the  worry,  if  I 
am  alone.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  feel  you  have  your  one 
precious  possession  in  the  world  with  you  where  you  cannot 
properly  protect  it.  He  kissed  her  and  she  was  silent, 
thinking. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  want  to  make  it  harder  for  you,"  she 
said,  doubtfully,  after  a  minute;  "but  I  am  sure  we  should 
manage  all  right  together  and  you  would  have  much  more 
fun  between  your  working  hours  if  I  were  with  you." 

"Think  how  nice  it  will  be  when  you  join  me  in  a  few 
months,  well  and  strong,  when  I  have  everything  safe  and 
comfortable  for  you.  Think  what  you  would  feel  if  you 
came  now  and  were  dragged  from  me  by  a  band  of  Indians 
who  had  murdered  me  to  gain  possession  of  you." 

At  that  suggestion — his  murder  on  her  account — surely 
the  worst  picture  for  any  woman  to  contemplate,  she  clung 
to  him  shivering. 

"Oh,  Bernard,  that  would  be  frightful — I  should  kill 
myself  the  moment  I  could,  but  surely — ' 

"Well,  I'll  read  you  Fred's  letter  about  the  place,"  said 
Bernard,  sitting  up  and  taking  the  matches  from  the  chair 
beside  the  bed.  He  struck  one,  lighted  the  candle,  got  the 
letter  out  of  the  pocket  of  his  coat  and  began  to  read  it  to 
her.  It  was  full  of  horrible  bits  about  the  atrocities  of  the 
Indians  on  unprotected  ranches,  and  dwelt  again  and  again 
on  the  inadvisability  of  any  woman  coming  out  at  that  time. 
When  he  had  finished  it  they  began  to  argue  the  question 
again,  until  Lydia  said  suddenly, — 


106  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Very  well,  Bernard,  go  without  me,  since  you  wish  it, 
but  we  can't  tell  what  will  come  of  it." 

She  said  no  more,  but  lay  down  and  closed  her  eyes. 
Bernard  put  out  the  light  and  gathered  her  into  his  arms. 

A  week  later  Bernard  was  ready  to  leave  the  farm.  From 
the  first  moment  he  had  decided  to  go  he  had  been  burning 
with  a  mad  desire  to  be  gone  and  get  the  dreadful  pain  of 
parting  over,  and  Lydia,  after  her  day's  work,  walked  out 
through  the  evening  coolness,  a  little  way  from  the  farm, 
trying  to  face  the  thought  that  to-morrow  she  would  be 
alone,  left,  it  almost  seemed,  deserted. 

She  leant  her  arms  on  the  top  rail  of  the  stile  and  looked 
across  the  fields :  beautiful  as  they  had  been  in  various  forms 
ever  since  the  first  bright  blade  rose  from  the  dark  soil,  they 
were  now  in  the  height  of  their  glory,  a  stretch  of  shimmer- 
ing, gently-swaying  gold  with  here  and  there  the  flare  of 
the  blood-red  poppies.  How  beautiful  it  all  was,  yet  how 
willingly  she  would  leave  it  to  go  with  Bernard  to-morrow! 
How  hateful  to  be  left  here  with  it  without  him.  Love  is 
the  great  interpreter:  the  beauty  of  the  world  means  nothing 
to  us  when  we  are  too  young  to  know  passion,  and  very 
little  when  we  have  grown  too  old  and  have  finished  with 
love.  The  air  was  sweet  and  cool  as  it  touched  her  cheek, 
overhead  hung  the  great  bell  of  the  sky,  crystalline,  serene, 
full  of  a  lambent  gold  effulgence  and  soft  rosy  fire,  and  far 
in  the  clear,  infinite,  pink-tinged  depths  sparkled  a  planet, 
the  planet  that  is  the  fairest,  the  most  brilliant  of  all,  and 
that  men  have,  therefore,  named  Venus.  From  the  hawthorn 
trees  above,  the  hedges  beside  her,  blush  pink  with  wild 
roses,  poured  out  the  melody  of  the  thrushes;  great  black 
bees  went  humming  past  her  at  intervals  on  the  way  to  the 
nursery  gardens  behind  her,  where  the  rich  damask  roses 
hung  heavy  with  fragrance,  awaiting  them,  calling  them 
impatiently  through  the  hot  silence,  and  where  the  standard 
lilies  stood  in  the  shadow  with  the  thick  honey  dripping 
from  their  white  lips  and  all  the  orange-yellow  pollen  on 
their  stamens,  lighter  than  the  lightest  dust,  quivering, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  107 

eager,  yet  helpless  to  rise  on  the  soft  evening  air,  longing  foi 
the  brush  of  the  insect's  wing.  The  girl  moved  restlessly 
as  the  deep  heavy  mysterious  fragrance  from  those  waiting 
flowers  was  borne  towards  her.  Since  love  had  broken 
down  all  barriers  and  opened  many  new  paths  to  her  thoughts 
she  had  looked  about  her  with  different  eyes  and  seen 
into  the  springs  of  life,  and  had  learnt  the  secrets, 
the  life  histories,  often  tragedies,  of  flower  and  insect 
and  bird;  had  seen  the  deadly  struggle  ever  going 
on  between  love  and  death  in  all  created  things. 
She  felt  now  to-morrow  she  would  be  as  lonely  as 
those  gasping  lilies,  as  powerless  to  fulfil  the  law  of 
her  own  being,  as  mutely  suffering  and  helpless  as  they 
were  now. 

As  she  stood  waiting  there  a  colour  came  into  her  cheeks : 
she  saw  in  the  distance  the  figure  of  a  man  enter  the  little 
track  that  wound  across  the  fields,  and  come  down  it  in  her 
direction.  The  outline  of  a  large  hat  in  the  gold  evening 
air  and  the  easy,  swinging  carriage  of  the  tall  form,  told  her 
it  was  Bernard.  He  came  towards  her.  Generally  she  was 
careful  not  to  let  him  even  so  much  as  pause  by  her  side,  but 
this  evening  she  was  reckless:  what  did  anything  matter? 
she  cared  for  nothing — the  worst,  had  happened:  he  was 
going:  to-morrow  she  would  be  alone.  She  said  nothing 
as  he  placed  himself  by  her  side  and  put  his  hand  over  hers 
that  lay  loosely,  idly  on  the  rail.  He  looked  down  upon  her 
with  stormy  passion  in  his  eyes.  Never  again  would  he  see 
her  so  lovely,  so  perfect  in  freshness,  in  animation,  never 
again  so  full  of  a  perfect  untouched,  undivided  passion  for 
himself,  and  the  immensity  of  his  own  folly  in  leaving  her 
came  home  to  him  and  he  thought  madly,  Was  it  possible  to 
alter  things,  to  revoke  his  decision?  But  then  his  passage 
had  been  taken  and  no  money  was  free  at  hand  for  hers,  then 
the  danger  there,  the  unbuilt  house,  the  hardships,  the  words 
in  his  friend's  letter — 

"Bernard,  don't  come  to  my  room  to-night,"  her  voice 
broke  in  on  the  medley  of  his  thoughts.  "I  feel  I  could  not 


108  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

stand  the  stifling  heat  we  had  last  night.  I  will  come  out 
and  meet  you  in  the  orchard  if  you  like." 

Bernard  hesitated.  The  unusual  in  anything  never 
attracted  him.  He  was  without  that  wild,  romantic  senti- 
ment that  tinged  all  the  feelings  and  coloured  the  whole 
mind  of  his  wife.  He  was  prepared  to  rough  it  at  all  times 
with  any  man  if  it  were  necessary:  sleep  under  a  hedge  by 
all  means  if  you  had  no  roof,  but  why  desert  a  moderately 
comfortable  bed  for  the  open  country  for  no  particular 
reason? 

"Very  well,  dearest,  if  you  like,"  he  said  slowly.  There 
was  something  strange  about  her  this  evening:  a  sort  of  fire 
he  did  not  recognise. 

"I  do  like,"  she  said  decidedly.  "I  will  come  to  the 
hollow  about  twelve.  It  is  the  last  night  we  may  ever  have. 
I  want  to  remember  it  with  stars  and  cool  airs  and  green 
leaves." 

She  leant  towards  him  and  smiled,  and  Bernard  assented, 
not  to  the  words,  but  to  the  smile,  and  said  he  would  wait 
for  her  in  the  hollow. 

It  was  after  midnight  before  Lydia  ventured  down  and 
out  of  the  house :  she  was  afraid  of  someone  not  being  really 
asleep  and  hearing  her  descend.  What  a  relief  it  was  to 
her  feverish,  passionate  mood  when  she  stepped  out  on  to 
the  short  turfy  grass  and  felt  the  soft  summer  air  play  round 
her  face,  instead  of  the  still  heated  atmosphere  of  her  tiny 
room  under  the  roof. 

The  nights  have  different  colours.  Some  nights  are 
black,  the  nights  of  storm:  some  are  electric  blue,  some  are 
silver,  the  moon-filled  nights;  some  are  red  under  the  hot 
planet  Mars  or  the  fierce  harvest  moon;  some  are  white, 
the  white  nights  of  the  Arctic  winter;  but  this  was  a  violet 
night,  a  hot,  mysterious,  violet  night  of  midsummer.  There 
was  no  moon,  cold,  callous  spy  upon  the  doings  of  men: 
the  sky  stretched  above,  a  deep  soft  purple,  lighted  only 
by  the  throbbing,  palpitating,  restless  stars,  fretful,  un- 
certain as  human  life  itself.  A  deep  delicious  fragrance, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  109 

indefinable  because  the  intermingling  of  a  thousand  different 
scents  hovered  over  the  rose  gardens  and  the  flower-filled 
hedges  and  stole  forward  to  meet  the  girl  with  subtle  invi- 
tation as  she  passed  noiselessly  across  the  gardens  towards 
the  orchards. 

With  footfalls  quite  silent  on  the  soft,  mossy  paths  Lydia 
found  her  way  to  the  familiar  hollow  in  the  orchard.  There 
was  no  bloom  now  on  the  trees,  that  wonderful  immaculate 
snow  of  blossom  had  passed  with  the  spring  days.  Masses 
of  glossy  green  leaves,  spray  over  spray,  replaced  it.  With 
sure,  swift  feet  and  eyes  that  saw  easily  through  the  heavy, 
green,  sweet-scented  gloom  of  the  alley,  Lydia  went  on  to 
the  break  in  the  old  brick  wall,  like  the  silent-footed,  sinuous- 
bodied  cat  slipping  out  to  its  nightly  tryst,  and  when  she 
reached  it  she  parted  the  heavily-leafed  boughs  with  one 
hand,  and  putting  the  other  on  the  wall,  leapt  over  and 
dropped  down  on  the  other  side  in  the  mossy  dell.  Bernard 
sprang  from  the  ground  and  caught  her  supple  body  in  his 
arms,  and  in  the  green  twilight  under  their  leafy  roof  they 
looked  into  each  other's  white  faces. 

"Lie  down,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "I  am  so  tired  I 
cannot  stand  any  longer; "  and  when  he  had  thrown  himself 
on  the  ground  she  stretched  herself  on  him  and  kissed  his 
face  all  over  the  eyes  and  brows  and  chin  with  ungovern- 
able passion.  Bernard  remembered  always  those  moments 
when  he  lay  beneath  the  warm,  lithe  form,  full  of  its  bound- 
ing pulses  and  overflowing  with  the  strength  of  its  first 
youthful  passion.  Looking  up  overhead  between  the  thick, 
close-set  leaves  and  broad,  interlacing  boughs,  a  star  or 
planet  glittered  firily  as  they  caught  the  vision:  then  one 
by  one  they  seemed  extinguished.  Bernard  saw  nothing 
but  the  white  outline  of  the  face  above  him  in  the  green 
dusk  as  he  folded  his  arms  tightly  like  steel  cords  about  the 
slender,  heaving  waist. 

The  nightingales  had  been  singing  fitfully  but  their  songs 
died  down  into  utter  silence:  the  woods  all  round  grew  very 
still.  The  great  orchestra,  the  marvellous  harmonies  of  a 


110  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

summer  night,  were  silent.  The  small,  nocturnal  animals 
of  field  and  wood  passed  silently  through  the  grasses,  each 
seeking  its  home  in  bank  or  hedgerow.  The  tiny  footfalls 
passed  and  the  hush  deepened.  A  twitter,  a  young  bird's 
cry  of  panic,  broke  the  sultry  stillness  at  intervals,  to  be 
instantly  hushed  by  the  parent  birds,  and  the  stillness  grew 
and  intensified  till  each  tree,  each  leaf,  each  blade  of  grass 
seemed  holding  itself  still  and  motionless,  waiting,  while 
the  dark  cloud  curtain  unrolled  itself  lower  and  lower  down 
over  the  violet  sky. 

Then  with  a  sudden  crash  of  thunder  the  storm  broke. 
The  first  wild  rush  of  the  rain  came  down  with  a  loud 
pattering  on  the  protecting  leaves  overhead,  and  a  moment 
later  all  the  herbage  was  receiving  it  with  a  different  voice; 
the  long  grass  swished  with  a  crisp,  fierce  hiss  as  the  rain 
rushed  through  it,  and  the  large  dock  leaves  and  strong 
meadow  flowers  leant  this  way  and  that  as  the  deluge  swirled 
over  them.  Lydia  laughed  as  she  heard  the  fury  of  the 
storm  break  and  clung  close  to  Bernard's  breast. 

"Kiss  me,"  she  whispered;   "lie  close;   keep  me  warm." 
"You  will  catch  cold:  it  is  madness  to  stop  here." 
"No,  we  are  all  right:  only  a  little  rain  will  get  through. 
Put  your  other  arm  over  me,  look  what  a  glorious  flash!" 

Looking  up  through  the  leaves  it  seemed  to  them  as  if 
the  whole  world  above  them  had  caught  fire:  great  rivers 
of  red  lightning  poured  down  the  sky,  and  the  light  seemed 
to  fall  all  about  and  round  them,  so  that  for  a  moment  they 
could  see  the  tree  trunks  and  the  trembling  leaves  and  the 
wild,  long  grasses  lashed  hither  and  thither  by  the  heavy,  sting- 
ing rain,  then  again  there  was  blackness,  instantly,  and  they 
could  only  hear  the  thunder  of  the  rain  all  around,  striking 
the  reverberating  earth.  Lydia  lay  listening,  panting.  In 
the  storm  of  the  desperate  elements,  in  the  excitement  of 
smitten  Nature  round  her,  she  seemed  to  feel  a  relief  to  her 
own  feelings,  a  lightening  of  the  load  of  passion  and  resent- 
ment and  anger  within  her  own  breast.  She  wanted  to 
shed  angry  tears  but  could  not,  and  now  everything  was 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  111 

weeping  tumultuously  round  her;  she  wanted  to  shriek 
out  in  her  pain,  and  now  the  grinding  branches  of  the  trees 
above  groaned  and  shrieked  as  the  wind  drove  them  together; 
the  blaze  of  the  lightning  seemed  like  the  fire  in  her  own  breast; 
the  long  roll  of  the  thunder  and  the  fierce  blow  of  the  rain  on 
the  quivering  foliage  suggested  to  her  the  blows  she  could 
have  given  her  lover  between  her  kisses.  She  laughed  as 
the  storm  drew  nearer  over  their  heads. 

"We  ought  to  go  in,  darling,  this  is  folly,"  urged  Bernard, 
distracted  by  the  new  semi-savage  fire  of  passion  that  vibrated 
through  her  body  to  hit»  arms  and  filled  him  with  a  vague 
apprehension  and  a  new  intoxication  of  pleasure  they  had 
not  known  before. 

"My  last  night  with  you:  perhaps  my  very  last,  who 
knows  ?  You  must  let  me  do  as  I  like.  I  like  to  stay." 

As  she  spoke  a  more  vivid  light  than  any  of  the  former 
flashes  blazed  from  end  to  end  of  the  sky,  and  simultane- 
ously came  a  ripping,  splitting  crash  of  thunder  just  over 
their  heads,  as  if  giant  hands  were  tearing  some  breadth 
of  shrieking  stuff,  as  the  housewife  tears  her  crisp,  crying 
calico  across. 

Lydia  stopped  his  protestations  with  her  lips  on  his  and 
there  was  darkness  again.  All  round  them  there  was  a  wild 
rattle  of  leaves,  and  swish  of  grass  and  creaking  of  stems, 
while  the  rain  roared  down  upon  them. 

Bernard  lost  all  sense  of  the  storm,  and  to  Lydia  it  only 
surged  in  her  ears  as  a  wild  accompaniment  to  the  feelings 
within  her.  But  when  the  first  passion  of  their  meeting 
was  over,  and  the  chill  of  exhaustion  crept  over  them,  Ber- 
nard became  conscious  of  the  rain  falling  on  his  face  and  he 
felt  the  girl's  hands  lying  in  the  long  grass  were  wet  and  cold, 
and  he  roused  himself  and  sat  up  regardless  of  her  remon- 
strances. 

"There  is  a  shed  in  the  angle  of  the  wall  close  here,  let's 
go  to  that.  Come,  you  must  come,  the  trees  do  not  protect 
us  enough." 

Wearily,  for  the  first  sleep  had  just  begun  to  steal  over 


112  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

her,  the  girl  rose  and  followed  him  as  he  moved  forward, 
stooping  to  avoid  the  low  twisted  branches  of  the  trees. 
They  reached  the  doorless  shed  in  a  few  minutes,  and  Bernard 
entered,  drawing  the  girl  in  after  him.  The  ground  was 
quite  dry  here  and  there  was  ample  space  for  them  to  lie 
full  length  side  by  side  upon  it,  the  few  farming  implements, 
pails  of  lime  for  washing  and  marking  the  trees,  and  other 
various  things  which  the  shed  contained,  being  ranged  round 
its  walls.  Bernard  lay  down  and  stretched  out  his  arm  to 
form  a  pillow  for  the  girl's  head.  She  took  her  place  beside 
him  and  threw  her  arms  over  him,  putting  up  her  lips  to  his 
cheek  in  the  darkness,  and  almost  immediately  fell  asleep, 
heedless  of  the  damp  air  and  the  hard  ground,  contented 
because  she  was  at  his  side.  And  the  storm  raged  on  through 
the  night  as  they  calmly  slept  there. 

Pale  and  tired  Lydia  walked  back  alone  in  the  very  early 
dawn  to  the  farm.  All  round  her  Nature  lay  exhausted, 
stricken  also;  the  gold  corn  was  prostrate  in  the  fields,  the 
grasses  were  beaten  down,  the  flowers  trailed  headless  on 
the  moist  ground,  the  brooks  were  muddy,  the  birds  plumed 
their  feathers,  cross  and  silent,  in  the  dripping  trees. 

Rapidly  she  crossed  the  farmyard  to  the  barn  where  the 
cows  awaited  the  milking,  pulled  open  the  door  and  dis- 
appeared hi  the  quiet,  peaceful  darkness.  The  large  grey 
door  swung  silently  to  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  VH 

BREAKFAST  of  the  day  Bernard  was  to  leave.  Bella  sat  at 
the  table  with  her  heavy  face  looking  heavier  than  usual; 
all  the  blood  in  it  seemed  pressed  to  the  surface  till  the  skin 
appeared  a  dull  purplish  brown.  Lydia  sat  in  her  place  at 
the  end  of  the  table:  her  face  was  very  pale  and  the  small, 
observant  children  at  her  side  noticed  how  her  hands  shook 
as  she  cut  their  bread  for  them.  Bernard's  face  had  a 
frozen,  mask -like  look  about  it,  and  he  answered  abstractedly 
Mrs  Anderson's  attempts  at  conversation  and  inquiries 
about  the  new  life  and  work  he  was  going  to.  His  bags  and 
luggage  had  been  brought  down  and  set  in  the  hall  near  the 
front  door,  and  here  after  breakfast  the  whole  family  gathered 
to  wish  him  good-bye.  He  was  to  catch  the  nine  o'clock 
coach  over  to  Troutbeck,  from  where  he  could  take  the 
train.  The  coach  was  not  yet  in  sight  and  they  all  lingered 
waiting  in  the  hall.  Bernard  himself,  a  little  awkward  and 
nervous  in  the  embarrassment  of  adieux,  but  looking  mag- 
nificent as  usual  by  reason  of  his  great  height  and  strength 
and  other  natural  gifts,  lounged  against  the  lintel  of  the 
open  door.  Bella,  with  a  queer,  strained  expression,  and 
wearing  her  hat,  stood  fiddling  at  a  pair  of  new  gloves  oppo- 
site him.  Mrs  and  Mr  Anderson  stood  a  little  back,  and 
behind  them  all,  in  the  darkness  of  the  passage,  Lydia, 
motionless  and  silent,  white-faced,  with  her  trembling 
hands  folded  together  under  her  apron.  It  had  been  arranged 
overnight  that  not  a  look  nor  a  sign  should  pass  between 
them,  that  their  good-bye,  if  any,  should  be  a  perfectly 
formal  one  in  public,  so  she  stood  back  patiently,  feeling  the 
best  part  of  her  life  ebbing  away  with  each  of  those  last 
8  113 


114  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

minutes,  and  dreading  the  last  when  she  should  no  longer 
see  that  figure  lounging  against  the  lintel. 

"The  coach  is  late,"  remarked  Mrs  Anderson,  looking 
up  the  road.  "Bella,  you  and  Mr  Chetwynd  might  walk  up 
to  the  corner,  they  stop  there  a  bit  sometimes,  and  tell  them 
the  things  is  waiting  down  here." 

"All  right,  Mrs  Anderson,  I'll  say  good-bye  here  then," 
he  answered.  "Good-bye,  Mr  Anderson.  Good-bye,  Miss 
Wilton,"  and  he  lifted  his  large  hat.  Lydia's  yearning  eyes 
from  out  of  the  darkness  saw  the  sun  strike  his  straight, 
white  forehead  and  bright  hair.  Then  he  and  Bella  turned 
and  walked  down  the  garden  to  the  road.  Lydia  slipped 
away  upstairs  to  her  room.  Fifteen  minutes  later  the  coach 
was  at  the  farm  gates.  Bernard  was  already  seated  on  the 
top  near  the  front,  his  luggage  was  lifted  out  of  the  hall  and 
put  in,  the  coach  started,  and  in  a  moment  more  was  vanish- 
ing up  the  road,  leaving  a  track  of  deep  wheel  furrows  in  the 
moist,  brown  road.  Lydia,  watching  from  her  window, 
sank  down  by  it  on  her  knees,  throwing  her  apron  over  her 
face  in  a  flood  of  bitter,  angry  tears. 

The  slow,  long,  hot  summer  day  dragged  on  and  she 
worked  incessantly,  but  it  seemed  to  her  the  hours  would 
never  pass;  they  stretched  and  stretched  out  infinitely  it 
seemed,  one  into  the  other,  for  ever  going  on.  It  was  as  if 
darkness  and  solitude  would  never  come.  She  saw  little  of 
Bella,  for  she  did  not  come  to  the  kitchen  where  Lydia  was 
working  all  that  day,  and  she  did  not  join  in  the  family 
mid-day  meal.  The  storm  of  the  previous  night,  while 
doing  great  damage,  and  leaving  spoliation  and  destruction 
everywhere  behind  it,  had  failed  to  make  the  air  cooler  or 
the  heat  less  heavy.  The  whole  atmosphere  remained 
electrical  in  the  extreme,  and  the  evening  came  down  wind- 
less, with  a  deep  violet  sky  and  the  long,  low  play  of  light- 
ning on  the  horizon.  Very  slowly  and  wearily  it  passed  to 
the  working  girl,  and  at  last  as  nine  sounded  it  was  with  a 
reeling  head  and  uncertain  vision  she  dragged  herself  thank- 
fully up  the  long  stairs  to  her  attic.  It  was  a  very  hot, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  116 

sultry  night,  and  it  seemed  to  Lydia  that  the  roof  of  her 
stifling  little  room  was  actually  pressing  on  her  head.  The 
palms  of  her  hands  burnt  till  the  skin  felt  cracking,  a  horrible 
sense  of  suffocation  oppressed  her.  She  set  the  window 
wide  and  opened  her  door  on  to  the  landing,  but  no  draught 
passed  through  the  room.  The  night  was  absolutely  breath- 
less and  the  heavy  clouds  hung  low  outside,  pressing  down 
the  sultry  heat  on  the  earth.  With  her  bare  feet  she  paced 
noiselessly  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  deal  boards  of 
her  room  and  felt  the  floor  grow  warm  as  her  burning  feet 
passed  over  the  tiny  free  space  from  wall  to  wall.  In  the 
past  few  days  she  had  often  wondered  how  she  would  feel 
when  Bernard  had  really  left  her  and  had  never  realised  the 
torment  of  longing,  the  helpless,  blank,  resentful  despair 
lhat  invaded  her  whole  being  now.  She  had  known  so  much 
happiness,  so  much  joy,  in  this  little  cramped  room :  she  had 
been  so  accustomed  to  live  wholly  in  those  few  hours  of  the 
night  when  Bernard  came  to  her,  that  now  that  happiness 
was  torn  away  from  her,  out  of  her  life,  now  when,  after 
the  long,  weary,  tedious  day  was  over,  there  was  nothing 
to  expect  but  blank  unconsciousness,  her  whole  passionate 
nature  cried  out  in  a  revolt  she  could  not  master.  She  was 
young,  and  though  not  foolish  had  much  to  learn,  and  she 
resented  bitterly  this  sudden  loss  of  her  happiness  after  she 
had  taken  all  the  necessary  steps  to  secure  it.  Had  she 
not  married  Bernard  ?  She  thought  by  that  she  had  riveted 
her  happiness  to  her,  chained  it  to  her  side,  and  that  it 
could  not  escape.  But  happiness  cannot  be  chained  nor  kept 
in  permanent  residence  by  any  mortal  means  whatever. 
It  is  a  flying  spirit  that  we  may  embrace  for  a  moment  as 
it  hovers  near  us,  but  try  to  chain  it  and  no  matter  what  the 
fetters  they  fall  on  the  thin,  empty  air.  This  first  hateful 
lesson  of  life  she  was  learning  now.  In  spite  of  that  wonder- 
ful marriage  that  was  to  bind  them  to  each  other  and  happiness 
to  both  for  ever  and  ever,  Bernard  was  gone,  taking  her 
happiness  with  him,  and  for  the  moment  she  was  as  abso- 
lutely alone,  deserted,  miserable,  as  a  girl  who  had  loved 


116  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

rashly  without  thought  for  the  future.  As  she  walked 
backwards  and  forwards  restlessly,  with  the  angry,  burning 
thoughts  shooting  through  her  brain,  she  felt  she  could 
never  love  Bernard  again  as  she  had  done  after  this  infliction 
of  pain  upon  her.  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  taken 
her  and  run  all  risks  than  left  her  like  this.  They  ought  to 
have  avoided  parting  at  all  costs,  this  is  what  she  thought, 
what  the  woman  always  thinks  in  like  circumstances,  with 
superficial  foolishness  and  underlying  wisdom.  For  the 
woman  knows  the  value  of  that  first  tremendous  gush  of 
love  and  devotion  that  wells  up  in  her  in  the  first  days  of  her 
passion,  and  that  the  man  would  be  wise  to  drink  deeply 
then  and  guard  well  the  source,  for  afterwards,  if  he  returns 
to  seek  the  rushing,  brilliant  miraculous  spring  he  has  left, 
he  is  likely  to  find  only  a  small,  flat  pool  to  meet  his  thirst. 
"Be  calm,  be  calm,"  he  says  to  the  water  as  it  rushes  up 
spontaneous,  impetuous,  sparkling,  full  of  its  tremendous 
vitality.  And  by-and-by  Time  and  Exhaustion  have  done 
their  work  and  the  small  pool  is  calm,  quite  remarkably  so, 
and  the  water  no  longer  dashes  into  his  face,  rushing  and 
dancing  to  his  lips,  in  fact,  he  has  to  bend,  and  bend,  and  lie 
down  prostrate  before  he  can  sip  from  its  surface.  And  the 
taste  is  flat  and  muddy  and  unsatisfying,  and  the  man  sits 
thirsty  by  the  pool  and  wonders  what  has  become  of  the  spring. 

For  Bernard  to  take  his  wife  with  him  would  have  been 
a  step  fraught  with  risks  and  dangers;  outwardly,  a  foolish 
one.  To  leave  her  behind  was  to  court  a  greater  risk, 
prepare  a  greater  harm  for  both.  In  those  moments  of 
pain,  of  anguish,  of  loneliness,  of  love  thrown  back  upon 
itself,  he  prepared  the  waste  field  of  his  life.  Each  pain 
she  suffered  was  like  a  seed  thrown  out  into  the  dark  abyss 
of  the  future  from  which  would  eventually  spring  a  harvest 
of  pain  for  him.  Consciously  she  did  not  blame  him,  but 
he  had  cut  a  great  wound  in  her  love,  and  after  pain  and 
bleeding  a  wound  heals,  and  where  a  wound  has  healed 
there  is  always  a  hardening  of  tissue. 

Suddenly,  as  Lydia  walked  to  and  fro  restlessly,  silently, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  117 

stealthily,  as  an  injured  animal  walks  in  its  cage,  her  ear 
caught  a  slight  sound.  It  was  the  creak  of  a  stair.  Some- 
one was  coming  up,  slowly,  softly,  as  if  afraid  of  discovery. 
She  stopped  still  and  listened.  How  often  she  had  longed 
for  that  sound  and  rejoiced  as  it  at  last  caught  her  waiting 
ear.  But  now  it  could  mean  nothing  pleasant  and  her 
heart  beat  rapidly  as  she  heard  it  coming  higher  up,  nearer. 
She  stood  waiting,  facing  the  door,  expecting  she  knew  not 
what,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  more  Bella's  figure  appeared 
on  the  landing.  She  came  straight  into  the  room.  Her 
red  hair  hung  loose  about  her  neck,  her  face  was  frightfully 
stained  with  tears,  and  her  eyes,  bloodshot  and  red-rimmed, 
seemed  almost  to  have  disappeared  in  the  flesh.  Lydia 
retreated  somewhat  dismayed.  This  was  the  first  time  that 
she  could  remember  Bella  having  invaded  her  room.  The 
latter  did  not  seem  to  notice  her  but  sat  down  on  an  empty 
chair  heavily,  like  one  drunk  or  blind. 

"Oh,  Lydia,"  she  broke  out  in  a  stifled  sob,  "he's  gone, 
gone  away  for  ever,  and  he  did  not  care  for  either  of  us.  I 
thought  it  was  you  and  I  hated  you  for  it,  but  I  see  now. 
Oh,  what  beasts  men  are,  how  I  hate  him!  He's  gone.  I 
shall  never  see  him  again.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall 
I  do  ?  I  loved  him  so  much." 

Lydia  sat  down  on  a  chair  by  the  corner  of  the  dressing- 
table,  leaning  her  elbow  on  it,  and  with  her  hand  pushing 
back  the  clustering,  envious  hair  from  her  forehead,  she 
looked  steadily,  fixedly,  at  the  girl  opposite  her.  Bella  was 
in  that  state  of  abandoned  grief  in  which  a  weak  nature  must 
speak,  must  talk,  must  confide  in  some  other,  even  if  that 
other  is  an  enemy,  and  her  hatred  of  Lydia  rested  on  her 
own  jealousy.  There  had  never  been  one  single  act  of 
hostility  un  Lydia's  side  tc  her  to  make  her  fear  this  girl. 
Her  grief,  her  disappointment,  her  absolute  despair,  had 
been  pent  up  all  that  long  hot  day.  Now  she  had  lost  sense 
of  everything  except  her  own  mad  blind  pain.  She  must 
speak,  must  take  the  only  relief  at  hand,  and  with  frenzied 
words  she  tore  at  her  own  most  inmost  being,  dragging  off, 


118  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

fiercely,  every  veil  of  modesty,  shame,  concealment,  as  the 
madman  with  frenzied  hands  tears  at  his  body  and  rends  off 
his  clothes. 

Lydia,  herself  so  full  of  tempestuous,  angry  sorrow,  sat 
and  looked  back  at  her  long  and  steadily:  it  was  curious, 
gazing  at  the  reflection  of  her  very  own  emotions.  The 
girl's  face  worked  convulsively:  it  was  hideous,  terrible, 
and  Lydia,  lifted  completely  for  the  moment  out  of  herself, 
was  shaken  with  pity. 

"I -think  he  must  have  disliked  me.  That's  what  makes 
it  so  hard,"  moaned  Bella,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  driving  them  deep  into  her  disordered  hair,  "  because, 
because — "  she  added  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  pressed  on  by 
that  need  to  speak,  to  humiliate  herself,  to  grovel  in  the 
abject  misery  that  weighed  upon  her,  "I  asked  him  to,  once, 
one  night  when  he  was  walking  home  by  the  hedge,  and 
he  wouldn't." 

"Asked  him  to  do  what?"'  Lydia  asked,  not  in  the  least 
comprehending.  Her  own  love  had  been  so  proud,  so  up- 
right, so  glad,  innocent  and  triumphant,  from  the  first,  with 
no  need  for  any  baseness  in  it,  that  she  never  dreamed  of 
the  tortuous  paths  this  girl's  wretched,  ungratified  passion 
might  have  forced  her  into. 

"Well,  you  are  dull,"  Bella  answered  with  fierce  con- 
tempt, and  a  dark  livid  red  crawled  slowly  over  her  face  as 
she  saw  the  absolute  non-comprehension  in  the  eyes  opposite 
her.  But  the  crawling  red  told  its  tale  better  than  words, 
and  as  the  girl's  meaning  flashed  on  her  all  the  blood  fled 
away  suddenly  from  Lydia 's  face  and  her  blanched  lips  parted 
in  a  terror-stricken  whisper.  "Oh,  Bella!"  She  sat  mute, 
rigid,  on  her  chair,  gazing  at  the  girl  with  eyes  fixed  open  in 
horror.  It  was  horror  that  she  felt,  nothing  less  than  that, 
and  for  the  moment  not  her  kindness  of  heart,  not  even  all 
her  generous  sympathy  with  any  pain  and  suffering,  could 
conquer  it.  For  a  girl  to  yield,  after  long  resistance,  to  a 
lover's  dishonourable  temptation  would  have  been,  in  her 
eyes,  terrible.  Something  that  with  all  the  vital  love  for 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  119 

Bernard  alive  in  her  breast  she  could  not  for  a  moment 
imagine  herself  as  doing,  yet  understandable,  forgivable. 
But  this  act  of  a  girl,  who  knew  herself  uncared-for,  unsought, 
even  unpleasing  to  a  man,  seeking  him,  waylaying  him, 
offering  him  her  own  dishonour,  seemed  so  frightful,  so 
inconceivable,  that  a  sick  faintness  came  over  her.  She  felt 
suffocated. 

"Oh,  Bella,"  repeated  the  other,  fiercely,  with  a  low, 
savage  laugh.  "It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  say  'Oh,  Bella!' 
You're  only  sixteen  and  don't  know  what  love  is.  You 
wait  till  you're  two-and-twenty  and  have  seen  someone 
you  like,  you  won't  be  such  a  little  namby-pamby,  goody- 
goody  as  you  are  now." 

Lydia  did  not  answer.  She  was  thinking,  trying  to 
understand,  as  she  always  did,  new  aspects  of  life  and  emo- 
tion as  they  came  before  her.  Trying  to  sympathise, 
trying  to  forgive,  instead  of,  as  most  of  us  do,  trying  to 
condemn. 

"But  there  are  lots  of  men  who  come  here,  Bella,"  she 
said  faintly  at  last.  "Some  of  them  would  like  you,  care 
for  you." 

"But  has  there  ever  been  one  like  him?"  Bella  broke 
out  impetuously,  interrupting  her.  "Oh,  I  did  love  him 
so.  I  thought  he  was  so  splendid.  So  tall,  and  them  arms 
of  his,  I  never  did  see  anything  like  them.  I  caught  him 
once  washing  of  them  at  the  spring:  oh,  I  do  tell  you,  Lydia, 
they  was  something  to  look  at.  Did  you  ever  see  him  with 
his  coat  off?  My!"  and  she  lapsed  into  silence,  thinking 
back  into  the  past,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy. 

Lydia 's  hand  trembled  where  it  lay  on  the  dressing-table 
and  she  passed  the  other  over  her  eyes.  Bella's  questions 
went  home  to  her  and  she  felt  the  blood  mount  to  her  face. 
What  would  she  say  if  other  questions  came  ?  What  would 
happen  if  Bella  probed  deep  with  them?  What  would  be 
the  result  if  she  suspected,  discovered  the  true  position  of 
things,  that  of  the  girl  she  was  so  recklessly  making  her 
confidante?  But  Bella  was  lost  in  herself,  rolled  round  in 


120  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

that  absorbing  need  for  talk,  for  confession,  for  some  relief 
for  the  accumulated  unendurable  pressure  of  feelings  chained 
up  in  silence  for  many  months.  She  did  not  want  to  listen. 
She  did  not  want  even  answers.  She  wanted  to  talk  of 
herself  and  know  that  another  sat  still  and  heard,  and  to 
Lydia  there  was  a  sort  of  awful  fascination  in  thus  sitting 
and  listening  to  another  girl's  passion,  poured  out  for  her 
own  lover,  seeing  all  her  own  feelings,  her  distress,  grief, 
resentment,  passion,  all  travestied  and  put  in  far  grosser 
form,  moving,  acting,  speaking,  as  in  a  distorted  reflector, 
without  concealment,  before  her. 

"He  was  so  handsome,  that  was  it,"  the  girl  went  on. 
"Look  at  the  men  here,  look  at  every  one  of  them.  Why, 
there  isn't  one,  as  I  see,  that  comes  anywhere  near  him. 
Look  at  that  fright  of  a  curate,  and  even  Mr  Lamsden  that 
owns  the  grey  house,  and  them  young  bullocks  of  fanners 
that  ma  won't  let  me  look  at.  I  loved  him.  I'd  have  lain 
down  in  that  cabbage  patch  and  let  him  walk  about  upon 
me  if  he'd  wanted  to.  I'd  have  gone  right  down  there  to 
the  lake  and  thrown  myself  in  and  drowned  there  if  he'd 
ha'  given  me  a  kiss  first." 

Paler  and  paler  grew  the  face  opposite,  as  the  words, 
winged  with  their  desperate  truth,  wrung  from  this  girl  hi 
her  pain,  went  in  their  low,  shameful  current  from  one  to 
the  other. 

Lydia  realised  she  was  face  to  face  with  an  even  stronger, 
if  a  coarser  and  baser,  passion  than  her  own :  this  girl  would 
have  given  up  her  honour  and  counted  it  well  sacrificed,  and 
Lydia  knew  that  that  she  herself  would  never  have  done. 
With  this  girl  her  love  had  been  really,  truly,  first,  but  with 
Lydia  it  had  come  only  third,  after  her  own  virtue  and 
pride  as  she  understood  them.  Great  as  her  love  for  Bernard, 
great  as  her  attraction  to  him  had  been,  she  would  have 
shrunk  from  him  in  horror  if  his  love  had  brought  dishonour 
with  it. 

"But  he  never  would,  no,  not  even  kiss  me,  though  I 
wanted  nothing  of  him,  and  shouldn't  have  expected  nothing. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  121 

I  didn't  want  no  marriage,  nor  think  of  that,  for  though 
I'm  a  sight  too  good  for  these  louts  about  here,  I  knew  I 
wasn't  good  enough  for  him.  He  could  get  the  prettiest 
girl  as  ever  was,  but  it  was  just  he  didn't  like  me,  couldn't 
bear  the  sight  of  me — "  Then,  after  a  moment,  "Do  you 
think  he  was  married  perhaps?" 

"  Of  course,  it's  possible,"  returned  Lydia,  faintly. 

"He  seemed  young  to  be  married,"  reflected  the  other, 
"and  he  didn't  seem  to  have  no  young  lady  either,  for  I  got 
ma  to  look  at  all  his  letters  when  the  post  came  and  there 
wasn't  one  in  a  lady's  handwriting." 

Lydia  was  silent.  She  was  thinking,  "  Has  this  girl  really 
loved  him  more  than  I,  or  is  it  only  that  she  thinks  less  of  her 
honour,  holds  her  virtue  of  less  account  than  I  do  mine?" 

"  Have  you  ever  felt  like  this  for  anybody  else  ? "  she 
asked.  "Have  you  ever  done — what  you  said — for  anyone 
else?"  Her  tone  was  low,  eager.  She  wanted  to  know 
whether  there  was  really  existent  a  love  greater  than  her 
own  for  Bernard. 

"No,  I  haven't,  I  wouldn't,  only  for  him.  You  know  I 
am  not  the  kind  that  goes  about  after  the  men.  And  I 
don't  care  for  not  one  of  them,  only  for  him.  I've  always 
kept  myself  to  myself,  but  he  just  made  me  quite  mad.  I 
used  to  see  him  come  in  at  that  door  in  the  kitchen,  with 
that  big  hat  a  little  pushed  off  like,  and  his  face  so  white  and 
yet  so  healthy-looking,  and  then  he'd  cross  and  sit  down, 
just  flinging  that  beautiful  figure  of  his  in  the  chair  opposite, 
and  he'd  smile  and  say,  'Well,  it's  a  nice  evening,  Miss 
Anderson,  isn't  it  ?'  and  I  just  used  to  feel  my  heart  swelling 
up  within  me  as  though  it  would  break  out,  and  I  could  have 
gone  and  knelt  right  down  at  his  feet  and  kissed  them — 
but  there,  it's  no  use,  I  hadn't  the  looks  and  it  don't  matter 
one  snap  what  you  feels  if  you  haven't  the  looks.  I  hadn't 
the  looks  he  fancied;  it  must  have  been  that,  for  he  didn't 
seem  to  care  for  no  one  else.  But  he  didn't  pay  no  more 
attention  to  you  than  he  did  to  me,"  she  added,  as  if  on  an 
afterthought. 


122  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"No,  indeed,"  murmured  Lydia. 

She  was  thinking  deeply,  quickly,  as  she  gazed  stead- 
fastly at  this  broken-up,  wrecked  human  vessel,  stranded, 
destroyed  by  the  same  gale  through  which  she  herself  had 
ridden  so  easily  on  the  top  of  its  buoyant  waves.  It  is  so, 
she  thought,  this  girl  is  chaste,  as  good  as  I  am,  simply  her 
love  was  great  enough,  strong  enough,  to  make  her  fling  all 
else  aside  for  it.  This  I  could  not  have  done.  So  she  has 
felt  more  than  I.  So  there  are  greater,  deeper,  stronger 
passions  than  mine  has  been.  And  she  sat  pale  and  still 
on  her  chair,  lost  in  startled  reflection  as  she  faced  this 
disquieting  discovery.  Her  eyes  dilated  and  her  hands 
grew  cold.  Some  such  passion  then,  wrecking,  soul-destroy- 
ing, irresistible,  might  sweep  over  her  too,  tearing  all  from 
her,  leaving  only  a  tattered  remnant  of  life  with  which  to 
clothe  herself.  Something  within  her  swelling  breast  told 
her  that  she  was  of  the  stuff  to  feel  the  very  strongest  emotions 
this  world  can  give,  and  if  not  felt  now,  then  the  future  held 
them  for  her.  And  this  was  the  result,  this  is  what  they  made 
out  of  one,  she  thought,  staring  at  her  companion. 

"You  was  sweet  on  him  too,"  broke  out  Bella,  coarsely, 
after  a  minute.  "Oh,  you  needn't  tell  me  anything  different. 
No  girl  could  help  it.  I  wouldn't  believe  you  if  you  was 
to  lie  till  the  eyes  dropped  out  of  your  head.  But  you  couldn't 
get  him  no  more  than  I  could,  that's  one  comfort — "  and  she 
stared  across  at  the  other  devouringly,  as  the  light  from  the 
candle  on  the  dressing-table  fell  full  on  her.  Lydia  sat  with 
her  bare  feet  tucked  back  on  the  rail  of  the  attic  chair.  She 
was  in  her  petticoat  and  stays,  her  low  chemise  showing 
all  the  wealth  of  her  round,  white  arms  and  delicious  throat 
and  full,  white-cushioned  neck.  A  hotter  shade  of  pink  colour 
stole  into  her  transparent  cheek  as  she  felt  the  jealous  glare 
of  the  other  girl's  eyes  upon  her  and  she  drew  herself  together 
more  closely  on  her  chair. 

"I  am  sure,  Bella,  you're  very  good-looking  and  I  don't 
see  why  you  don't  choose  someone  here  and  marry  him  and 
be  happy  with  him,"  she  said,  hurriedly  answering  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  123 

other's  evident,  but  unspoken,  thoughts  rather  than  her 
words.  "It  isn't  any  use  thinking  about  Mr  Chetwynd 
now  he's  gone." 

"No,  it  isn't  any  use,"  cried  out  Bella,  "it  isn't  any 
use,"  with  an  accent  of  absolute  heart-rending  despair, 
and  putting  her  head  down  suddenly  on  the  dressing-table 
she  broke  into  a  fresh  storm  of  agonised  weeping.  Lydia 
got  up  trembling;  she  was  vibrating  in  every  fibre  with 
intense  excitement.  Overstrung  already,  physically  ex- 
hausted, and  mentally  unnerved  with  passionate  anger, 
rage  and  disappointment  struggling  together  with  love 
for  the  object  causing  all  her  pain  she  felt  the  scalding  tears 
well  up  to  her  own  eyes.  Standing  by  the  bowed  figure  of 
the  miserable  girl  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  neck  with  a 
sympathetic  touch. 

"Bella,  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  whispered,  and  the  scorching 
tears  fell  on  the  other's  skin. 

Bella  looked  up  quickly,  her  face  haggard  with  misery, 
and  the  next  moment  they  were  in  each  other's  arms,  an- 
tagonism forced  under  by  that  pressing  need  of  emotion 
to  find  expression.  They  clung  to  each  other  sobbing 
wildly,  moved  by  a  common  madness  of  resentment  against 
the  man,  a  common  misery.  "Let  me  go.  I  shall  go  out 
and  drown  myself,"  muttered  Bella,  between  stifling  sobs. 

"No,  no,  come  and  lie  down  here  with  me,"  answered 
Lydia,  holding  her,  "let  us  try  and  go  to  sleep.  Why  should 
you  kill  yourself  for  him?" 

"No,  he  was  a  beast,  he  was  a  beast,"  Bella  answered, 
with  quivering  lips  and  streaming  eyes,  letting  herself  be 
drawn  towards  the  bed.  The  warm  magnetism  of  those 
living  arms,  the  pressure  against  that  other  heaving  human 
breast  was  insensibly  acting  on  this  hungry,  longing,  dis- 
tracted girl,  insensibly  soothing  the  jarred  nerves.  She 
let  Lydia  draw  her  on  to  the  bed  and  stretched 
herself  beside  her.  She  was  still  sobbing  but  more 
quietly.  Lydia  kept  her  arms  round  the  other's  neck  and 
drew  her  close. 


124  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"I  am  dead  tired.  I  can't  cry.  I  can't  think  any 
more.  Let's  try  and  go  to  sleep,"  she  murmured. 

Bella  closed  her  eyes:  she  was  exhausted  too.  The 
drowsiness  that  great  pain,  great  grief,  mercifully  bring 
with  them  was  creeping  over  them  both.  The  candle  burnt 
down  unnoticed  in  the  stick  and  went  out.  Their  eyes  were 
closed,  and  a  little  later,  each  soothed  by  the  warm  contact 
of  the  other's  body,  they  drifted  into  sleep,  their  arms  en- 
twined, their  wet,  tear-stained  cheeks  side  by  side  on  theii 
common  pillow. 


CHAPTER 

AFTER  Bernard's  departure  life  went  on  at  the  farm  in  its 
same  even,  placid  course  as  before  he  came.  Outwardly 
there  was  no  change,  no  difference.  He  had  managed,  in 
that  short  space  of  time  that  he  had  stayed  there,  to  revolu- 
tionise the  lives  of  the  two  girls,  but  each  shut  herself  up  in 
silent  reserve  and  followed  her  usual  routine  of  work  and 
duties  apparently  undisturbed.  After  that  first  night  of 
misery  and  confession  Bella  had  never  opened  her  lips  again 
on  the  subject  to  Lydia,  and  Lydia  herself  was  only  too  glad 
to  let  it  lie  in  oblivion.  She  remained  gentle,  kind  to  Bella, 
as  she  always  had  been,  and  Bella,  now  that  Bernard  was 
gone  and  she  felt  no  longer  active  fear  and  jealousy  of  the 
girl,  did  not  seek  to  annoy  her  or  be  actively  unkind.  She 
dimly  realised  the  sweetness  of  the  other's  disposition  though 
her  own  was  so  different  from  it,  and  she  did  not  hate  Lydia 
for  being  the  recipient  of  her  shameful  confession  as  so 
often  results  in  such  cases,  because  she  felt  quite  sure  Lydia 
would  guard  her  secret  and  that  she  was  safe  in  Lydia 's 
hands.  Still,  the  smothered  jealousy  of  her  was  too  great 
to  allow  of  anything  like  affection  growing  up  between 
them.  A  sort  of  neutral  sympathy,  an  absence  of  hostility 
was  the  nearest  and  only  approach  to  it.  Now  that  there 
was  no  danger  of  chance  meetings  with  Bernard  out  of  doors, 
Lydia  was  allowed  to  take  the  children  out  for  walks  as  she 
had  been  before,  and  this  made  a  great  relief  from  the  con- 
stant indoor  drudgery. 

Field  and  wood  and  hedgerow  took  on  a  glory  of  colour, 
the  trailing  vines  blushed  crimson,  there  was  a  wealth  of 

late  roses  everywhere,  and  the  hot,  golden,  windless  days 

1*9 


126  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

left  every  leaf  on  the  trees  to  turn  into  a  blaze  of  scarlet, 
violet  and  gold.  The  mountains,  undisturbed  this  year  by 
snow  or  rain  or  gales,  lay  serene  against  the  tranquil  azure 
skies. 

Meantime  the  days  were  slipping  by  and  Nature  was 
quietly,  steadily,  persistently  working  out  her  own  ends  as 
is  her  wont.  Lydia  had  made  all  her  preparations  for  her 
flight.  She  had  written  to  her  aunt  at  Tunbridge  and 
received  a  kind  letter  in  return,  welcoming  her  heartily. 
And  Lydia  felt  glad  in  her  virtue.  A  poor  girl,  lonely,  in 
distress  and  shame,  would  have  found  little  help  or  comfort 
at  such  a  time;  but  she,  the  honest  wife  of  a  young,  hard- 
working man  with  unknown  possibilities  and  future  before 
him,  would  be  welcomed  with  smiles  anywhere.  She  could 
hold  up  her  head  and  look  the  world  in  the  eyes  for  she  had 
faithfully  followed  its  noble  and  glorious  conventions,  and 
she  took  out  her  marriage  certificate  and  kissed  it,  and 
replaced  it  carefully  in  her  bosom,  together  with  her  aunt's 
letter  of  welcome.  She  thought  with  passionate  tenderness 
of  Bernard,  and  loved  him  as  no  woman  can  love  a  man 
who  has  made  her  sacrifice  her  virtue  to  him.  In  all  the 
impulses  of  the  love  of  this  latter  there  will  be  one  pure, 
true  impulse  missing.  She  will  never  quite  forgive  him  for 
the  loss  of  her  conventional  virtue  and  all  the  moral  freedom, 
pride  and  independence  it  bestows. 

The  days  sped  by  and  Lydia  watched  them.  She  had 
saved  a  nice  little  sum  of  money,  bought  herself  a  few  neces- 
sary things,  and  now  contemplated  departure  any  time, 
yet  still  stayed  on  for  the  sake  of  the  small  weekly  wage 
paid  her.  At  last  one  day,  coming  across  the  yard  with  the 
milk  pails,  she  glanced  up  and  saw  Bella  watching  her 
critically  from  the  doorway.  She  met  Lydia's  eye,  turned 
quickly,  and  disappeared  into  the  house,  and  Lydia  heard 
her  call  sharply,  "Mother."  The  expression  on  her  face 
spoke  worlds  to  Lydia's  quick  perceptions  and  she  did 
not  wait  to  carry  the  milk  into  the  dairy,  but  set  it  down  by 
the  door  and  ran  into  the  house  and  up  the  stairs.  She 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  127 

packed  up  her  little  box  that  stood  almost  ready,  took  off 
her  apron  and  rolled  down  her  sleeves.  Work  was  over  for 
a  time  now.  She  knew  what  was  coming.  She  would  be 
dismissed,  but  not  with  shame.  No  one  could  put  that 
upon  her,  and  she  stood  waiting  calmly,  with  her  hat  already 
on,  for  the  summons  from  below.  She  glanced  round  the 
room,  it  was  empty,  cleared  up,  neat.  The  box  was  locked, 
ready  to  be  taken  by  the  grocer's  man,  who  would  drive 
her  over  to  Troutbeck  for  a  small  sum.  She  took  out  her 
dear  wedding  ring  and  put  it  on;  it  should  never,  never 
leave  her  hand  again,  and  as  it  slipped  over  her  finger  it 
seemed  like  a  talisman,  a  charm  against  all  ills. 

"Lydia,"  came  at  last  the  familiar  scream  from  below, 
and  she  went  down  the  stairs  in  obedience  to  it. 

Mrs  Anderson  was  in  the  dining-room,  Bella  was  there 
too,  with  an  extraordinary  expression  on  her  face:  besides 
malignant  triumph,  surprise  and  eager  curiosity,  there  was 
something  else  stronger  than  all  these:  what  was  it,  Lydia 
vaguely  wondered  as  she  came  into  the  room;  later  it  came 
back  to  her  and  she  knew  it  was — envy. 

"Lydia,  you've  been  deceiving  me,"  Mrs  Anderson 
began  in  a  severe  tone,  but  not  without  a  touch  of  parental 
reproach  in  it,  as  if  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  encouraging, 
by  the  most  gentle  sympathy,  this  girl's  daily  confidences 
and  had  a  right  to  expect  them.  To  this  Lydia  answered 
nothing,  only,  with  her  head  held  high,  regarded  Mrs  Ander- 
son fully  and  gravely.  The  other  woman  looked  back  at 
her  and  realised  the  moral  and  physical  beauty  before  her. 
The  beauty  of  the  figure  only  slightly  marred  by  its  increased 
heaviness,  and  the  beauty  of  the  eyes  full  of  a  wonderful 
nobility. 

"And  now,"  with  increasing  asperity,  "you  have  got 
yourself  into  trouble.  Aren't  you  heartily  ashamed  of 
yourself?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  replied  Lydia,  with  perfect  serenity,  "I 
am  most  proud  and  happy.  I  am  married." 

Mra  Anderson  suddenly  sat  down  in  the  armchair  be- 


128  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

hind  her  with  a  little  gasp.  Bella  came  forward  close  to 
her,  and  Lydia  in  a  glance  saw  her  white  face  in  which  the 
eyes  glittered  strangely. 

"She's  lying,  ma,  don't  you  believe  her." 

Mrs  Anderson  pushed  her  daughter  aside.  A  sudden 
thought  seemed  to  have  struck  her.  A  pallor  spread  itself 
suddenly  over  her  square,  heavy  face.  She  got  up  and 
seized  Lydia  by  the  shoulder. 

"Who  has  got  you  into  trouble  ?"  she  demanded  fiercely, 
in  a  totally  different  tone  from  the  former  ones,  the  tone 
of  keen  personal  interest  instead  of  impartial  condemnation. 
"Who  is  the  man,  who  is  the  father?  Tell  me  this  minute 
or  I'll  brain  you." 

Lydia  shook  herself  free  contemptuously,  and  looked 
down,  with  her  great  dauntless  eyes,  into  the  other's  face. 
She  had  doubted  if  she  would  give  them  Bernard's  name. 
After  all,  there  was  the  fact.  She  was  married.  She  need 
not  tell  them  more  than  that,  and  some  sympathy  for  Bella 
had  made  her  lean  to  not  saying  anything  further,  but  now, 
looking  into  this  woman's  face,  she  read  her  thoughts  in  a 
flash  and  decided  on  saying  the  truth.  "It  is  more  just  to 
everyone,"  she  thought. 

"I  was  married  to  Mr  Chetwynd  about  five  months  ago," 
she  answered  quietly,  "and  he,  Mrs  Anderson,  is  the  father 
of  my  child." 

She  had  hardly  uttered  the  words  when  Bella  was  at 
her  throat :  she  had  sprung  upon  her  as  a  cat  springs,  and 
the  sudden  rush  bore  Lydia  back  against  the  wall.  Bella's 
hands  flew  like  cat's  claws  at  her  face,  and  to  protect  that 
Lydia  seized  her  anrs  below  the  elbows  and  held  them 
motionless.  Bella,  finding  her  hands  were  useless  and  that 
she  could  not  loose  them  from  the  other's  grip,  began  to 
kick  violently,  and  Lydia  felt  the  pain  warn  her  that  there 
was  danger  to  the  life  within.  She  twisted  Bella  round 
with  all  her  strength  and  felt  the  first  savage  puke  of  hate 
as  her  child  was  threatened. 

"Call  your  daughter  off,  Mrs  Anderson,"  she  said  in  a  low, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  129 

desperate  tone,  "or  I  shall  kill  her,"  as  one  speaks  of  a 
furious  animal,  which  the  girl  seemed  in  reality  for  a  moment 
to  become.  Her  face  distorted,  without  a  sound,  she  bit, 
tore,  kicked  and  struggled  in  a  perfect  fury  of  passion. 

"Bella,  Bella,  what  are  you  doing?  Listen  to  me," 
Mrs  Anderson  called  to  her  and  tried  to  draw  her  backwards 
by  the  shoulder,  but  silent  still,  without  a  sound,  the  frenzied 
girl  fought  on,  and  Lydia,  feeling  herself  at  a  disadvantage, 
as  the  one  merely  on  the  defensive  always  is,  suddenly 
exerted  her  great  strength  and  flung  the  girl  from  her.  She 
fell  heavily  on  the  floor  and  lay  huddled  up,  stunned  and 
gasping.  Mrs  Anderson,  thoroughly,  and  almost  equally 
frightened  now  of  both  the  girls,  and  terrified  at  the  storm 
of  silent  passion  raging  in  the  room,  ran  to  the  back  door, 
screaming  for  her  husband.  "William,  William!"  Lydia 
walked  away  slowly,  with  her  breast  heaving,  and  out 
through  the  front  entrance  into  the  topaz  glow  of  the  late 
afternoon.  She  understood  Bella  and  had  always  done, 
and  had  a  deep  sympathy  with  her.  But  this  knowledge 
made  her  feel  that  all  words,  all  acts  were  inadequate,  useless. 
Nothing  could  ever  mitigate  that  sullen,  brutish  hatred  in 
that  dull,  overclouded  soul.  The  only  thing  was  to  go 
and  remove  her  presence  that  stirred  it  into  fury. 

Could  she  herself,  long  ago,  have  ever  forgiven  another 
child  who  had  come  up  and  bought  the  fat,  sawdust-body 
doll  she  coveted  out  of  the  window  of  old  ? 

By  the  gate  she  met  the  farmer  himself,  who  having 
been  in  front  of  the  house  had  not  heard  his  wife's  appeal 
over  the  back  garden.  She  stopped,  with  a  smile,  and  told 
him,  in  a  few  words,  of  her  intended  departure,  and  its 
history,  and  added:  "Look  here.  I  was  afraid  to  show 
them  this,  lest  they  should  take  it  from  me,  but  I  want  you 
to  see  it.  I  hate  to  think  the  whole  village  will  talk  scandal 
of  Bernard  and  me  when  I  am  gone.  You  will  stop  it,  won't 
you?"  and  she  drew  from  her  breast  the  precious  certificate 
and  made  him  read  it. 

The  fanner  took  it  and  studied  it  slowly  with  interest, 


130  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

through  his  spectacles,  then  he  folded  it  and  gave  it  back  to 
her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  saw  a  good  deal  more  than  you 
young  people  thought,  but  I  must  say  I  didn't  think  you 
had  been  quite  so  sly  as  this." 

"I  never  should  have  deceived  you"  murmured  Lydia, 
her  eyes  filling,  melted  at  once  by  his  kind  tone  and  smile 
and  feeling  self -reproachful  under  it,  "but  Mrs  Anderson 
and  Bella  have  always  been  so — so — "  She  hesitated,  un- 
willing to  complain  even  of  them  in  their  absence. 

The  farmer  patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  "I  know,  I 
know,  I've  seen  more  than  you  think,"  he  repeated,  "and 
though  I'm  sorry  to  lose  you  I'm  glad  for  your  sake  you're 
going.  Maria's  a  bully,  but  all  her  bullying  has  not  pre- 
vented you  getting  your  fun,"  he  chuckled.  "I'm  glad 
you  carried  off  Chetwynd.  I  thought  that's  how  it  would 
be  from  the  first." 

"William,  William!"  came  Mrs  Anderson's  screaming 
voice  from  the  house  door. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I'm  coming,"  he  replied  leisurely.  There 
was  a  warm  hand-clasp,  a  good-bye,  and  Lydia  passed  on. 
She  went  through  the  gate  and  slowly  down  the  road  in  the 
hot,  golden  light.  It  was  verging  towards  evening  and  the 
sunset  already  infused  its  rosy  light  through  the  amber  air. 
How  many  sunsets  she  had  seen  flush  and  flare  over  those 
wooded  slopes  and  swelling  fields,  and  now  this  was  the 
last  she  would  probably  ever  see  on  the  winding  Patterdale 
road.  The  summer  was  nearly  over,  that  wonderful  summer, 
and  with  its  close  came  the  end  of  her  sixteenth  year,  that 
joyous  year.  It  had  been  a  marvellous  summer,  she  thought, 
perhaps  nothing  would  be  quite  so  good  in  life  again  as  this 
first  awakening,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  regretful  tears  as 
she  remembered  those  dusk-filled,  lilac-scented  alleys  behind 
the  farm,  and  how  she  had  run  down  them  with  the  madness 
of  the  midsummer  nights  filling  her  veins.  She  thought 
of  the  strange  sweetness  of  the  flowers  in  blossom,  and  the 
exultant  trilling  of  the  larks  in  the  spring,  and  the  emerald 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  131 

turf  in  the  orchard  where  there  was  a  soft  light  thrown 
through  the  masses  of  white  and  pink  and  purple  bloom, 
and  of  those  quick,  nervous  kisses  exchanged  as  they  lay 
close  together,  like  mating  wild  things  of  the  wood,  overawed 
and  with  breath  coming  quickly  as  they  heard  footsteps 
passing,  sometimes  all  too  near  them.  But  they  had  never 
been  discovered,  the  thicket,  the  orchard,  or  the  bending 
lilac  and  may  had  always  guarded  their  secret  well.  It 
had  always  been  beautiful,  but  she  had  never  seen  it  clearly, 
fully  till  this  summer  when  she  had  looked  through  the  eyes 
of  love,  and  then  its  beauty  had  been  maddening,  almost 
unbearable,  driving  her  to  the  orchard's  shade  and  her 
lover's  arms.  With  reluctant  feet  she  moved  slowly  down  the 
road  to  the  little  grocer's  shop  by  the  post-office,  where  she 
would  send  back  the  boy  and  cart  for  her  box,  drink  a  cup 
of  tea  in  the  side  parlour  that  was  kept  as  a  restaurant  in  the 
summer  season,  while  she  waited  for  him  to  come  back, 
and  then  drive  over  to  Troutbeck,  where  she  could  catch 
the  train.  It  was  all  a  new  country,  new  ways,  before  her, 
and  as  the  road  descended  and  the  farm  sank  out  of  sight 
she  felt  that  the  first  epoch  of  her  life,  full  of  beauty  and 
light  and  joy  and  love,  the  radiance  of  the  very  early  morning, 
was  definitely  over. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  the  ancient  town  of  Tunbridge  there  are  still  left  some 
of  those  quaint  old  houses  with  deep-gabled,  projecting  roofs 
and  white  faces  crossed  and  recrossed  with  black,  that  date 
from  the  time  of  Elizabeth.  One  of  these,  turned  into  a 
hostelry  of  the  quiet,  old-fashioned  type,  belonged  to  Mrs 
Hailsham,  Lydia's  aunt.  It  stood  a  little  back  from  the  life 
of  the  town,  behind  the  main  street  of  Tunbridge,  and 
overlooked,  at  the  back,  its  own  ample  garden  and  beyond 
the  wooded  country.  There  was  a  deep  porch  in  front  and  a 
small  garden  with  rustic  benches  set  against  the  house, 
where  in  the  summer  the  regular  customers  were  wont  to 
sit  gossiping  through  the  hot  afternoons.  At  this  porch, 
one  still  golden  September  day,  Lydia  was  set  down  with 
her  small  box  beside  her,  and  welcomed  by  Mrs  Hailsham, 
who  drew  her  into  her  arms  and  kissed  her.  Lydia,  who 
had  not  been  kissed  since  her  parting  with  Bernard,  re- 
turned the  embrace  with  warmth  and  felt  a  glow  of  restful 
joy  as  she  went  into  the  house.  Mrs  Hailsham  had  given 
her  a  room  at  the  back,  the  best  position,  and  from  the 
window,  diamond-paned  and  opening  in  the  middle,  case- 
ment-wise, there  was  a  lovely  view  over  the  garden  and  to 
the  woods  beyond.  Above  the  window  hung  the  deep, 
projecting  eaves,  and  as  she  crossed  the  room  and  looked 
out  Lydia  saw  with  delight  a  row  of  swallows'  nests  built 
under  them.  The  room  was  not  large  but  fairly  pretty, 
with  its  white-hung  bed  in  one  corner  and  the  low  table  and 
chair  by  the  open  window,  its  bookcase  full  of  quaint  old 
books  hanging  on  the  wall  and  its  large  deep-cushioned 
couch.  The  breath  from  the  garden  and  the  rosebeds 

132 


133 

without  filled  it.  Lydia  laid  her  hat  and  gloves  on  the  bed 
and  then  sat  down  by  the  window,  leaning  her  head  back 
with  a  sigh  of  glad  contentment.  After  a  few  moments  she 
noticed  the  books  on  the  wall  opposite  her  and  crossed  over 
to  examine  them.  Lydia  had  always  loved  books  and  felt 
instinctively  familiar  with  them.  She  had  hitherto  had  no 
time  in  her  life  to  read  as  she  would  have  liked,  but  now  in 
this  quiet  time  coming  she  thought  suddenly  with  delight 
she  would  have  the  opportunity  to  study  if  she  chose.  It 
had  never  seemed  hard  to  her  at  school;  she  remembered  how 
far  more  quickly  and  easily  she  had  always  been  able  to  learn 
than  the  other  girls  there.  She  was  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  one  of  the  volumes  taken  from  the  case  when  the  door 
opened  and  her  aunt  re-appeared. 

"I  thought  you'd  like  some  tea  after  your  journey, 
dear,"  she  said.  "I've  put  it  all  ready  in  the  coffee-room 
if  you  like  to  come  down." 

Lydia  followed  her  downstairs.  The  coffee-room  was  a 
long,  narrow  room  running  across  the  back  of  the  house  so 
that  all  its  windows  looked  out  into  the  garden.  It  was 
empty  just  now  and  on  one  of  the  tables  at  the  end  tea  was 
laid  out.  Lydia  sat  down  at  it  and  Mrs  Hailsham  drew  up 
a  chair  beside  her. 

She  wanted  to  hear  all  Lydia's  news,  and  the  girl,  having 
nothing  to  conceal,  was  only  too  glad  to  find  a  sympathetic 
listener.  Someone  to  talk  to  of  Bernard,  how  delightful 
that  was  after  such  a  long  silence  when  his  dear  name  even 
had  never  passed  her  lips!  She  described  him,  his  height, 
his  fair  skin  and  bright  hair,  the  beauty  of  his  features,  using 
the  words  and  imagery  of  a  poet,  till  her  aunt  stared  in 
astonished  admiration. 

"Why,  Lydia,  you  talk  like  a  poetry-book.  I  think  you 
made  good  use  of  your  schooling." 

Lydia  laughed. 

"I  suppose  it's  easy  to  be  poetical  when  one  is  in  love. 
Love  teaches  one  everything." 

They  went  on  then  to  talk  of  Bernard's  position,  his 


134  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

prospects,  and  how  soon  she  would  be  able  to  join  him. 
Mrs  Hailsham  agreed  with  Bernard  that  it  was  most  prudent 
of  him  to  have  left  her  behind. 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Lydia,  "I  feel,  somehow,  I 
shall  never  be  so  near,  so  united  to  hjm  as  I  was  before  he 
left.  I  suffered  so  frigthfully,  too,  at  his  going.  I  never 
can  love  him  so  well  again.  Of  course,  I  am  getting  more 
resigned  now,  and  I  think  I  shall  like  this  quiet  time  here. 
I  want  to  read  and  study  and  learn  much  more  than  I  know." 

Mrs  Hailsham  looked  at  the  brilliant,  intellectual  face 
before  her  for  a  few  seconds  in  silence. 

"I  don't  think  I'd  read  and  learn  too  much,"  she  said, 
sighing.  "Where  will  it  all  come  in  in  that  life  of  yours  out 
there  ?  It  will  only  make  you  discontented,  and  your  husband 
doesn't  care  for  books,  I  take  it." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  laughed  Lydia.  "He  should 
have  taken  me  then  if  he  liked  my  being  ignorant.  Oh, 
aunt,  I  feel  there  is  so  much  to  know  and  learn  in  life,  so  much 
to  do  and  feel!  I  should  like  to  know  it  all,  experience 
everything  any  woman  ever  does.  If  one  only  could!" 

Mrs  Hailsham  looked  dubious. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "I  sometimes 
think  those  are  best  off  who  know  nothing  and  have  very 
little  experience." 

"Never,  never,"  returned  Lydia,  joyfully,  as  Mrs  Hail- 
sham rose.  Some  visitors  were  entering  and  claimed  her 
attention. 

The  reading  of  the  books  in  the  bookcase  gave  Lydia 
the  desire,  the  impetus  to  read  more,  and  in  her  daily  walks 
she  stopped  constantly  at  a  second-hand  bookstall  and 
bought  for  a  few  pence  various  volumes  that  struck  her 
fancy.  Amongst  these  was  an  old  copy  of  Helvetius  in 
French,  and  the  famous  treatise  on  the  Mind  captured  that 
part  of  her  intellect  that  had  come  to  her  from  her  father. 
She  was  not  at  that  time  a  good  French  reader.  Still, she  had 
learnt  the  language,  and  with  the  dictionary  she  bought  at 
the  same  time  she  progressed  very  well.  No  one  who  has 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  135 

read  carefully  and  thoroughly  understood  that  marvellous 
masterpiece  can  be  uneducated  afterwards,  even  though 
they  may  have  studied  nothing  else  in  the  world,  and  when 
Lydia  came  to  the  end  of  it,  having  really  spent  much  time 
and  thought  on  its  study,  she  had  learnt  infinitely  more 
than  the  London  school-board  pupil  has  after  a  five  years' 
course.  The  noble  intellect  bequeathed  to  her  was  thor- 
oughly awake  and  alert  now,  and  she  found  it  demanded 
food  and  occupation  as  pressingly  as  the  body.  She  read 
and  studied  regularly  many  hours  a  day,  rose  in  the  morning 
full  of  ardour  to  begin  her  books  and  fell  asleep  thinking  of 
them.  She  began  to  realise  the  fire  and  joy  of  mental  labour 
that  in  its  way  is  as  marvellous  a  revelation  as  the  passion 
of  love,  and  th?  enchantment  and  excitement  that  is  en- 
closed in  those  dull,  quiet  little  things  called  books.  Her 
visits  to  the  old  dealer's  bookstall  became  more  and  more 
frequent,  and  among  the  treasures  she  carried  from  it  were 
some  of  Bulwer  Lytton's  novels,  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall, 
and  a  Bohn's  translation  of  the  Odes  of  Pindar.  These 
last  were  difficult  for  her  to  understand.  Still,  she  did 
understand  them,  for  Pindar's  Odes  had  been  her  father's 
favourite  book  at  the  University. 

From  this  beginning  she  was  led  to  get  other  volumes  of 
the  classics,  and  marred  and  spoiled  though  they  were  by 
the  translations  still  through  them  she  was  able  to  stand  on 
the  threshold  of  that  wonderful  world  that  the  classics 
throw  open  to  the  mind.  Through  the  autumn  she  read 
largely  out  of  doors,  sitting  in  the  grounds  of  the  fine  old 
Tunbridge  Castle  or  walking  up  and  down  the  gravel  paths, 
wrestling  with  some  of  the  problems  presented  to  her  in  the 
book  she  was  reading.  Later,  as  the  winter  drew  nearer 
and  her  condition  became  more  and  more  evident  to  strangers, 
she  sat  in  by  the  fire  in  her  own  room  and  read  there.  So 
her  silent  self-education  went  on  from  day  to  day,  and  her 
mind  and  brain,  being  naturally  of  the  student's  material, 
developed  and  expanded  in  its  natural  occupation. 

The  ducklings  when  they  first  come  from  their  shell  take 


136  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

to  the  water  and  swim  perfectly,  not  because  they  have  ever 
swum  before,  but  because  their  parents  swam  before  them 
and  they  are  of  the  race  that  swims.  Similarly  this  girl 
found  study  easy,  simple,  like  a  familiar  occupation,  not 
that  she  was  practised  in  it  herself,  but  because  her  father 
and  his  ancestors  had  studied  before  her. 

Gradually,  in  those  months,  without  realising  it,  she 
changed  greatly,  becoming  a  different  being,  with  different 
thoughts,  ideas,  desires,  and  a  different  view  of  life,  and  a 
different  conception  of  its  possibilities,  to  the  girl  who  had 
stolen  down  to  meet  Bernard  in  the  hollow  under  the  almond 
bloom.  She  wrote  regularly  to  Bernard  once  a  week,  but 
somehow  she  did  not  tell  him  much  about  her  reading  or 
her  study.  There  was  no  reason:  simply  it  did  not  occur 
to  her  to  talk  to  him  of  the  new  world  in  which  she  was  living. 
She  still  helped  her  aunt  with  all  the  lighter  duties  of  the  house 
and  sometimes  served  hi  the  bar,  where  she  was  much 
appreciated,  and  her  beauty  and  gentle  manner  exercised  a 
beneficent  effect  on  the  language  and  behaviour  of  the 
customers.  She  also  found  time  in  her  own  room  to  make 
many  dainty  little  clothes,  and  her  fingers  moved  as  deftly 
as  ever  with  her  needle,  but  hi  all  her  occupations  the  silent, 
secret,  mental  growth  went  on.  Nature  was  altering, 
developing,  changing  her  as  she  is  always  changing  and 
remodelling  the  unhappy  human  being  and  everything  else 
in  this  sliding,  shifting,  changing,  unsatisfactory  world.  So 
day  followed  day,  serenely,  while  Nature  steadily  pursued  her 
task,  creating  the  new  life  within  the  girl's  body  and  no 
less  surely  creating  a  new  life,  with  equally  independent 
powers  and  desires,  hi  her  brain.  Bernard's  letters,  that 
came  regularly  week  by  week  were  full  of  hope  and  satis- 
faction. Everything  that  he  touched  seemed  to  prosper, 
and  through  them  all  there  ran  the  same  ardent  cry  for  her 
presence.  The  winter  gradually  approached  and  stripped 
the  garden:  the  much-loved  swallows  had  entirely  dis- 
appeared and  the  deserted  nests  hung  lonely  under  the  eaves. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  137 

Lydia  turned  more  and  more  from  her  window  and  its 
cold,  cheerless  aspect  to  the  fire  and  the  wcnder  of  her  book- 
world.  Sometimes,  when  she  put  her  feet  on  the  little 
square  footstool  and  settled  herself  comfortably  into  the  arm- 
chair, she  thought  fancifully  she  was  stepping  into  a  carriage 
in  which  she  was  to  drive  to  these  different,  enchanting  scenes. 

It  was  a  Monday  afternoon,  one  of  the  American  mail 
days.  Lydia  had  felt  peculiarly  restless,  nervous  all  day. 
She  felt  within  herself  that  the  appointed  time  was  finished. 
Nature,  who  had  always  been  her  guide  and  friend,  in  whom 
she  had  implicitly  confided,  whispered  in  her  ear. 

Those  strong,  natural  instincts  that  were  as  much  apart 
of  her  being  and  as  well  developed  in  her  as  they  are  in  the 
game  animals,  the  wild  children  of  the  woods,  spoke  to  her 
eagerly  that  day.  She  felt  a  gathering  within  her  of  all 
her  vital  forces,  a  sense  as  if  all  the  life  of  her  frame  was 
drawing  itself  together,  preparing  for  a  great  effort. 

A  dread,  the  natural  dread  of  the  unknown,  of  anything 
not  yet  experienced — which,  after  all,  constitutes  the  only 
dread  of  Death  itself — came  upon  her,  but  she  struggled 
hard  to  put  it  from  her,  to  call  up  all  her  mental  courage. 
That  sense  of  belief  in  her  own  Nature,  in  Life,  in  her  ulti- 
mate destiny,  that  belongs  to  some  minds  and  lends  them  a 
certain  calm  and  grandeur,  came  to  her  aid.  She  went 
about  all  her  duties  as  usual,  and  was  just  rinsing  her  hands 
in  the  little  back  kitchen  about  five  o'clock  when  she  heard 
the  postman  knock.  Without  waiting  to  dry  them  she  ran 
with  her  wet  hands  towards  the  door.  At  the  upper  end  of 
the  hall  she  stopped  and  almost  reeled  against  the  wall. 
A  great  pain  had  seized  her  suddenly  in  its  fangs  and  the 
shock  of  it  seemed  to  tear  the  breath  out  of  her  body.  The 
pain  ran  swiftly  through  her  and  died  gradually  away. 
Looking  down  the  passage  she  saw  a  letter  lying,  a  square 
of  white,  on  the  mat  by  the  door.  Her  heart  beat  in  a  joyous 
tumult,  she  must  get  to  that  letter,  but  her  whole  body 
vibrated  still  with  the  recent  pain,  and  before  she  could 


138  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

move  she  felt  it  slowly  growing  up  again  within  her.  She 
drew  herself  up  close  to  the  wall  and  braced  herself  with 
shut  lips  to  meet  it  as  a  bather  braces  himself  to  meet  an 
incoming  wave.  No  sound  escaped  her  as  she  bore  it 
patiently,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  letter.  Then,  in  a  few 
seconds,  as  the  torturing  grip  of  the  pain  relaxed  on  her, 
she  went  forward,  snatched  up  the  letter  and  tore  it  open 
passionately,  with  trembling  fingers.  At  that  moment 
when  she  longed  so  intensely  for  her  husband's  presence, 
to  be  hi  his  arms  and  drown  her  pain  in  his  kisses,  the  sight 
of  his  handwriting  came  as  a  balm  to  her  hungry,  frightened 
loneliness.  As  she  unfolded  the  letter  the  driving,  sword- 
like  pain  came  through  her  again,  and  racked  by  it,  unable 
to  stand,  she  sank  down  on  the  door-mat,  her  eyes  devouring 
the  written  words.  Rocking  herself  backwards  and  forwards 
hi  a  silent  agony  she  read  on  eagerly: — 

"DARLING  LITTLE  ONE, — You  are  to  come  immediately 
it  is  safe  for  you  and  the  baby  to  travel.  I  have  everything 
ready  and  nicely  fixed  up  for  you  now.  The  house  is  finished 
and  I  hope  you  will  like  it.  I  am  working  on  the  garden  and 
hope  to  have  it  finished  soon.  I  calculate  you  should  be 
able  to  start  hi  about  two  months  from  the  time  you  get 
this  letter,  but  do  not  run  any  risks.  I  think  of  you  all  day 
and  night.  Your  face  is  before  me  everywhere — " 

Before  she  had  finished  reading  the  letter  Lydia  became 
aware  she  was  feeling  very  ill.  It  was  not  only  the  pain 
now  that  shook  her  but  a  curious  sensation  of  revolt,  of 
upheaval  of  all  the  inner  life  of  her  being,  but  she  was  happy, 
divinely  happy. 

She  staggered  to  her  feet,  and  making  her  way  down  the 
passage  called  "  Aunt."  She  thought  she  would  have  to 
explain  when  Mrs  Hailsham  ran  out  of  the  kitchen  in  re- 
sponse to  her  call,  but  she  did  not  need  to.  The  good 
lady  looked  at  her  sharply  for  a  moment,  and  then  taking 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  139 

her  arm  urged  her  kindly  to  go  upstairs  and  lie  down.  Lydia 
went  obediently,  mechanically,  thinking  of  the  contents  of 
her  letter,  and  when,  a  little  later,  Mrs  Hailsham  and  the 
nurse  she  had  gone  out  to  fetch  came  up  to  her  room  they 
found  her  lying  on  her  bed,  her  eyes  closed,  almost  unconscious 
in  a  stupor  of  pain,  but  with  a  happy  serenity  on  her  face  and 
Bernard's  letter  tightly  clasped  to  her  breast. 


CHAPTER  X 

THREE  weeks  later  the  winter  sunlight  filling  the  little  room 
found  Lydia  sitting  up  in  bed  playing  with  her  child.  This 
new  toy  given  to  her,  the  petted,  favourite  daughter  of 
Dame  Nature,  delighted  her  beyond  everything.  She  had 
all  the  wild  pleasure  she  had  known  as  a  child  running  home 
with  some  coveted  possession  bought  in  the  village  toy-shop. 
She  caressed  it,  talked  to  it,  made  it  sit  up  amongst  the 
pillows,  and  gazed  upon  it  with  unceasing  delight.  It  was 
certainly  a  very  lovely  baby,  very  like  a  wax  doll,  with  wide- 
open  blue  eyes  and  a  fair,  delicate  bloom  on  its  skin  and 
its  small,  round  head  covered  already  with  golden  silk  for 
hair.  It  was  a  girl,  but  strangely  like  Bernard  in  its  face, 
and  its  eyes,  looking  up  into  Lydia's  with  a  curious  fixity, 
brought  Bernard  and  their  hours  together  so  vividly  back 
to  the  girl-mother  that  she  almost  crushed  the  child  by  the 
wild  fierceness  of  her  kisses  as  she  threw  herself  forward 
on  it,  holding  it  tightly,  almost  suffocated,  against  her  soft 
bosom.  Still,  it  did  not  cry,  it  seemed  rather  to  think  it 
good  fun  to  be  so  cuddled,  and  smiled  and  even  chuckled 
as  soon  as  it  could  get  its  breath.  It  hardly  ever  cried, 
being  a  wonderfully  strong,  healthy  baby,  round  and  fat 
in  its  case  of  satin  skin.  The  great  health  and  strength  of 
both  its  parents  and  their  natural,  untrammelled  love  for 
each  other  had  brought  its  inevitable  result,  the  extreme 
health  of  the  child,  and  Lydia's  entire  absence  of  worrying 
as  to  what  the  sex  of  her  child  might  be, her  own  fate,  or  indeed 
anything  out  of  her  own  hands,  her  calm  confidence  in  Nature, 
her  thankful  happiness  in  all  that  was  given  her  without  ques- 
tioning rebellion,  brought  about  the  serenity  of  its  nature. 

140 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  141 

The  little  room  enclosed  now  a  small,  complete  world  of 
happiness.  To  Lydia,  who  had  been  alone  so  long,  it  was 
delightful  to  have  this  small,  soft  companion,  so  warm,  so 
quiet,  to  nestle  beside  her.  It  seemed  never  displeased  nor 
cross  but  to  stretch  out  its  tiny  hands  to  life  with  the  same 
calm  confidence  that  its  mother  had.  The  daily  events  of 
its  small  life  did  not  trouble  it  at  all.  Its  morning  bath, 
in  which  Lydia  had  heard  children  generally  screamed, 
seemed  only  an  amusement  to  it,  for  it  laughed  and  chuckled 
gaily  when  Lydia  poured  the  warm  water  over  its  dimpled 
pink  back,  and  to  the  mother  herself,  not  yet  seventeen, 
this  bath  became  an  amusing  game  to  play  with  the  new 
doll.  Taking  it  out  and  drying  it,  and  slipping  on  the  tiny 
clothes  she  had  made  was  the  next  occupation,  and  then 
combing  through  its  silky  gold  hair.  This  grew  quickly 
and  lay  all  over  its  head  in  tiny  curls.  Lydia's  sensuous 
nature  took  a  passionate  delight  in  its  beauty  and  she  would 
set  it  in  the  sun  to  see  the  light  burn  on  its  hair  and  sparkle 
in  its  blue  eyes.  The  books  were  for  the  tune  laid  aside 
and  forgotten.  Nevertheless,  they  had  done  their  work 
and  their  effect  was  established  ineradicably.  Lydia  was 
now  in  one  of  those  little,  quiet,  sunny  nooks  that  line  the 
shores  of  Life's  terrible  ocean.  Far  out  at  sea  there  were 
roaring  billows  and  white-crested  waves,  whirlpools  and 
rocks  and  tempests,  but  this  was  a  little  cove  where  the 
water  rippled  in,  warm  and  shallow  and  clear,  over  white 
sand  and  small  pebbles,  a  warm  sheltered  spot  full  of  sun- 
light and  quiet  peace.  But  after  a  little  while  how  tired 
the  mortal  gets  of  such  places!  How  he  longs  to  put  out 
again  to  sea  and  face  the  roar  of  the  tempests. 

As  the  days  began  to  grow  longer  and  the  tide  of  life 
and  vitality  swept  once  more  at  its  full  strength  through 
her  veins,  Lydia  began  to  grow  tired  of  the  little  room  in 
which  she  had  known  so  many  happy  hours.  Bernard's 
letters  became  more  and  more  urgent,  and  happy  longings 
to  be  with  him  again  clamoured  within  her.  Her  glass, 
showing  her  her  bright  face,  added  its  arguments,  and  the 


142  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

size  and  health  and  loveliness  of  the  baby  made  her  im- 
patient to  show  it  and  hear  it  praised.  And  at  last,  not 
without  many  tears,  for  she  had  grown  most  gratefully  fond 
of  Mrs  Hailsham,  a  letter  was  sent,  announcing  her  depart- 
ure, to  Bernard,  and  her  passage  taken  from  Liverpool  to 
New  York.  It  was  a  mild,  dull,  February  afternoon  when 
she  drove  across  London  from  Charing  Cross  to  Euston 
Station  in  her  four-wheel  cab,  with  her  luggage  on  the  top. 
Besides  the  small,  square  box  of  earlier  days,  there  were; 
now  added  two  others,  one  for  the  baby's  clothes,  and  another 
one  packed  to  the  brim  with  books.  So  can  our  develop- 
ment in  life  be  traced  even  in  our  baggage.  Once  inside 
this  great  city,  the  heart  of  all  civilised  life,  a  great  excite- 
ment seemed  to  come  over  the  girl  and  pervade  her.  She 
felt  overjoyed  at  the  idea  and  importance  of  her  journey, 
and  the  unaccustomed  noise  and  bustle  at  the  large  stations 
animated  and  amused,  without  in  the  least  disconcerting, 
her.  Sitting  now  in  the  cab,  with  the  child  tightly  clasped 
on  her  knee,  she  looked  interestedly  out  of  the  windows 
and  scanned  the  various  moving  figures  of  the  crowded 
streets  with  bright,  inquisitive  eyes. 

When  she  arrived  at  Euston  she  had  still  some  time 
before  her  train  left  and  she  went  into  the  refreshment-room 
to  get  some  tea.  Well-dressed,  in  her  neat  black  travelling 
clothes,  and  with  her  fine  figure  and  carriage,  she  attracted 
general,  if  quiet,  attention,  and  it  dawned  on  her  suddenly, 
as  the  men  lounging  near  the  counter  made  way  for  her, 
that  it  was  of  far  more  importance  to  be  good-looking  at  a 
London  station  than  in  a  country  lane. 

Sipping  her  tea  quietly  at  a  little  marble  table,  while  the 
baby  lay  placidly  beside  her  wrapped  in  her  travelling  rug, 
she  looked  about  her  and  troops  of  new  thoughts  came  up 
to  her  and  made  her  acquaintance.  She  had  long  ago  told 
Bernard  she  thought  she  would  like  town  life  so  much  better 
than  country  and  now  she  felt  sure  she  would.  The  racket 
and  the  turmoil,  the  surge  and  roar  that  is  London's  well- 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  143 

known  voice,  came  to  her  from  the  outside  and  seemed 
like  distant  music;  the  very  grey,  foggy  air  that  lurked  about 
the  station  seemed  to  her  to  have  something  inspiring  in  its 
mysterious  clinging  murkiness;  the  stream  of  hurrying 
human  figures,  with  their  intent,  anxious  faces,  passing  by 
her  constantly,  edified  and  interested  her.  Why?  She 
could  not  tell:  but  many  people  know  and  feel  this  strange 
intoxication  of  the  Great  City.  To  those  who  feel  it  there 
is  no  need  to  explain  it,  and  to  those  who  do  not  perhaps  it 
cannot  ever  be  explained.  As  the  greyness  increased  lights 
began  to  sparkle  everywhere,  an  express  thundered  in  and 
platform  and  refreshment-room  became  crowded  with 
figures.  Lydia  paid  and  left,  finding  a  seat  outside  by  her 
luggage,  where  she  deposited  the  baby  and  her  wraps  and 
then  decided  she  would  go  and  buy  a  paper  for  herself  as  a 
crowd  of  other  travellers  seemed  doing.  She  strolled  across 
to  the  bookstall  and  had  just  picked  up  her  Westminster 
Gazette,  when  feeling  a  gaze  upon  her  she  glanced  up,  meet- 
ing, in  the  full  glare  of  the  lighted  stall,  the  grave,  earnest 
gaze  of  two  quiet  eyes  fixed  upon  her:  her  own  were  held  by 
them,  she  read  in  them  a  great,  though  reserved,  admiration : 
there  was  nothing  to  resent  in  the  look,  no  boldness,  no 
insolence,  only  that  deep,  strong  admiration  looking  out  of 
that  calm,  pale,  unmoved  face  above  her.  It  compelled  her 
own  gaze  in  return  and  swept  her  with  a  strange,  momentary 
pleasure  and  delight.  The  man's  features  were  somewhat 
thin,  the  face  refined,  and  figure,  attitude,  pose,  dress,  air, 
all  had  extreme  distinction.  For  a  second  Lydia  looked  up, 
while  all  this  impressed  itself  sharply  upon  her,  then,  re- 
collecting herself,  she  reddened  and  turned  away,  handed 
her  penny  to  the  boy,  who  was  also  staring  at  her  rosy  beauty, 
and  walked  hurriedly  away.  The  crowd  in  the  station 
pressed  in  between  her  and  the  stall  and  she  found  her  way 
back  to  her  seat,  where  the  baby  was  placidly  awaiting  her, 
and  sat  down,  mechanically  putting  her  arm  round  the  child. 
A  great  blankness  was  upon  her.  For  the  first  time  she 


144  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

felt  dissatisfied  with  the  card  she  had  bought  in  Life's  great 
shop.  It  is  a  horrible  moment  and  it  comes  once  in  nearly 
every  life.  The  moment  when  we  reflect  that  with  all  the 
money  we  had  in  our  hand  in  the  beginning  we  could  have 
bought  something  we  should  have  liked  so  much  better 
than  what  we  have.  Metaphorically,  Lydia  now  took  out 
her  card  and  looked  at  it.  It  had  poverty,  obscurity,  hard 
work  written  all  over  it,  and  it  was  besides  a  very  ordinary 
card;  it  had  a  little  house,  some  trees  and  fields,  pictured  on 
it,  some  children  playing  about,  and  in  the  centre  the  hand- 
some head  of  a  young  man.  Lydia 's  thoughts  softened 
suddenly  as  she  recalled  her  husband's  face.  True,  the 
card  had  some  beauty  and  many  rosy  colours,  but  there  was 
no  gilding  on  it  anywhere  and  no  deep  violet  hues,  nothing 
in  it  of  the  glamour  of  wealth,  nor  the  mystery  and  deep, 
fierce  pleasure  of  Life.  It  was  the  knowledge  of  the  existence 
of  this  and  the  knowledge  that  she  had  missed  it  that  came 
home  to  her  now  and  vaguely  oppressed  and  disturbed  her. 
Her  eyes  followed  the  passing  figures;  the  tall  figure  by  the 
stall  had  disappeared,  but  the  keen  memory  of  it  and  the 
quiet,  compelling  eyes  remained,  not  to  be  forgotten.  She 
saw  the  women  of  the  street  pass  and  repass  her  seat,  dis- 
playing their  hard,  painted  faces,  and  weighed  mechanically 
their  poor,  thin  shadow  of  beauty  beside  her  own,  rich  and 
vigorous,  warm  in  the  sun  of  her  youth  and  health.  Beauty 
was  cash,  money  wherewith  to  buy.  These  women  ran  up  and 
down  the  market  place  carrying  it  in  their  hands  to  buy 
bread.  She,  herself,  had  had  her  hands  full  of  it;  had  she 
gone  too  hurriedly,  thoughtlessly,  into  the  shop  where  there 
were  so  many  wonderful  and  beautiful  toys  and  spent  it  all 
on  this  one  little  card?  A  sort  of  horrid  clutching  at  her 
heart  almost  stilled  her  breath  as  she  sat  there,  heedless  of 
the  envious  glances  of  the  passing  women  and  the  open 
admiration  of  the  men,  lost  in  herself,  trying  to  wrestle  out 
the  meaning  of  these  new  unfamiliar  thoughts  that  forced 
themselves  upon  her  and  to  understand  why  the  chance 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  145 

gaze  of  a  stranger  should  have  given  them  life.  He  was, 
she  recognised,  a  man  of  a  different  type  from  any  that  she, 
living  hi  the  country,  ever  came  in  contact  with.  The  type 
that  is  common  hi  the  neighbourhood  of  the  clubs  and 
Piccadilly  is  practically  unknown  elsewhere,  and  the  slight, 
elegant  figure,  the  frock  coat,  the  high  circle  of  white  collar 
round  the  long  neck,  the  silk  hat,  the  distinguished  face,  the 
gravity  and  calm  of  which  and  the  lines  of  thought  traced 
on  it  seemed  to  hint  at  passions  repressed  and  afflictions 
passed  through,  at  things  felt  and  things  seen,  all  these 
made  up  to  her  unaccustomed  eyes  a  very  wonderful,  mys- 
terious and  interesting  being,  a  being  she  felt  to  be  repre- 
sentative of  that  side  of  life  of  which  she  knew  nothing — the 
wealthy,  cultured,  leisured  side,  where  emotions,  passions, 
feelings  were  more  complex,  perhaps  more  interesting  than 
in  the  simple,  healthy,  primitive  existence  she  knew.  And 
this  man,  whose  face  seemed  to  tell  of  so  much  experience 
and  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  Life,  had  looked  upon  her 
with  admiration,  with  evident  pleasure,  with  deep  interest; 
her  face  burned  angrily  as  she  stumbled  full  on  the  thought 
to  which  she  had  been  drifting  so  long.  What  would  her 
life  have  been,  lived  with  this  man,  or  one  like  him,  one 
belonging  to  that  mysterious  other  side  of  life,  instead  of 
with  such  a  one  as  her  husband?  She  hated  and  loathed 
the  thought  and  pushed  it  from  her,  never  hi  all  her  married 
life  had  one  like  it  presented  itself :  she  was  surprised,  shocked, 
startled  at  herself,  for  a  sudden  something  seemed  to  have 
sprung  up,  a  new  personality  within  her  own,  that  she  could 
not  recognise:  a  wild,  unmanageable  thing  that  seemed  to 
fight  with  her  ordinary  self  and  be  beyond  her  control.  A 
great  revolt  had  come  suddenly  upon  her.  A  great  sorrow 
and  resentment  that  she  was  going  away  from  this  great 
city,  this  heart  and  centre  of  life,  where  beauty  such  as  she 
had  was  valued  and  weighed,  atom  by  atom,  as  gold  in  a 
jeweller's  scales,  and  full  value  paid  for  it,  where  all  life's 
intimate  secrets  were  known  and  the  little  devious  paths  that 
10 


146  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

lead  to  pleasure.  Where  all  the  great  joys  and  the  little 
joys  of  the  world  were  bought  and  sold  and  exchanged  and 
given  in  all  manner  of  ways  and  for  all  sorts  of  prices,  Life's 
great  department  store,  in  fact,  the  greatest  in  the  world. 
And  she  with  but  one  little  card  in  her  hand,  on  which  was 
written  the  simple  programme  of  her  life,  was  leaving  it  to 
bury  herself  in  lonely  wilds,  never  perhaps  to  return,  or 
perhaps  only  as  an  old  woman,  the  poorest  of  all  the  beggars 
on  Life's  highway.  Then  her  hands  would  have  nothing 
but  ashes,  now  they  were  full  of  gold.  She  was  going  to 
waste  it,  throw  it  away  on  the  fields  and  hedgerows,  gaining 
nothing  for  it  but  the  privilege  to  work  hard  day  by  day  in 
her  even,  simple  toil,  toil  for  husband,  for  children,  knowing 
nothing  but  her  own  straight  little  path  of  homely  duties: 
knowing  nothing  of  other  lives,  other  loves,  other  lights  that 
gleamed  and  danced  and  rose  and  set  on  other  paths.  En- 
gulfed in  this  sudden  wave  of  feeling  that  came  she  knew  not 
whence  and  swept  over  her  in  a  bitter  flood,  she  suddenly 
for  one  blind  moment  hated  husband  and  child,  hated  the 
little  house  in  the  cornfields  she  had  so  prized,  hated  the 
life  that  called  her,  hated  her  future. 

"This  your  luggage,  mum?" 

Lydia  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet,  shaking  the  vile  thoughts 
from  her  as  if  they  were  crawling  snakes.  All  her  bright, 
brave  nature  rose  to  her  aid.  She  looked  her  life  in  the  face. 
She  had  chosen  it.  She  could  not  change  it.  She  loved  her 
husband  and  she  was  going  to  him:  she  loved  her  child 
and  that  was  at  her  side.  As  for  her  beauty,  it  would  always 
brighten  and  gladden  her  life,  why  should  she  wish  it  to  do 
more  ? 

"Yes,  that's  mine,"  she  answered  the  inquiring  porter, 
and  followed  him  to  the  train. 

In  the  third-class  carriage  into  which  she  got  she  found 
to  her  relief  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  least  resembling 
the  man  by  the  bookstall  on  the  platform.  Her  compan- 
ions here  were  of  the  same  type  as  those  so  familiar  in 
the  suburbs:  a  half -drunken  man  in  workman's  clothes  in 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  147 

the  far  corner;  next  him  a  fat,  motherly  woman  with  a  baby 
in  her  arms;  beside  her  a  little,  neat  old  man  whose  face  had 
disappeared  in  lines  and  wrinkles,  and  a  red-haired  child 
belonging  to  the  fat  woman  opposite,  made  up  the  company. 
Amongst  these  people  her  thoughts  sobered  down  but  she 
was  intensely  angry  with  herself  for  having  had  such  as 
her  recent  ones  had  been,  and  not  a  little  frightened  at  the 
new  self,  within  herself,  that  she  had  discovered.  Though 
the  thoughts  themselves  had  gone  now  the  mystery  of  their 
birth  at  all  puzzled  and  troubled  her.  She  could  not  un- 
derstand why,  never  having  had  such  ideas  before,  they 
should  arise  now.  She  did  not  recognise  the  fact  that  as 
she  was  growing  up  farther  and  farther  from  girlhood,  so 
was  her  inner  nature  changing,  developing.  She  could 
no  more  expect  to  retain  the  thoughts,  wishes  and  ideas 
of  fifteen  than  she  could  the  face  and  figure  of  fifteen.  The 
human  being  always  resents  the  change  in  himself  that 
is  his  perpetual  fate.  He  is  always  surprised  and  wounded 
by  it,  and  whereas  he  blames  Nature  for  the  changes  in  his 
physique,  he  makes  crimes  of  his  own,  out  of  the  equally 
natural  change  in  his  feelings.  We  are  always  growing  up 
or  growing  old,  in  our  minds  as  in  our  looks,  and  it  is  no 
more  our  fault,  however  deeply  it  is  to  be  deplored,  if  the 
loved  wife  or  husband  of  one  year  cease  to  please  and  satisfy 
us  the  next,  than  it  is  our  fault  when  the  wax  doll  or  the  tin 
soldier,  idolised  in  our  thirteenth  year,  fail  to  move  us  in  the 
least  when  we  have  passed  the  fifteenth.  Lydia,  however, 
made  no  such  excuses  for  herself.  She  was  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  her  thoughts  and  with  this  new  creature 
that  she  discovered  was  sleeping  inside  her,  and  not  only 
sleeping  but  now  stirring  in  its  sleep.  She  could  only  hope 
and  pray  that  it  would  never  wake  up  wholly :  she  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  a  hand-to-hand  contest  with  it.  Looking 
out  into  the  damp  blackness  of  the  night,  as  the  train  sped 
on  its  way,  she  thought  hard  of  the  husband  and  child  and 
the  fresh,  joyous  life  that  awaited  her  under  skies  of  endless 
blue.  But  Nature,  who  cannot  be  said  to  be  entirely  on 


148  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

the  side  of  Morals  as  man  has  invented  them,  and  who 
deeply  resents  our  restraining  her  changes  and  evolutions, 
in  the  short  sleep  that  came  over  the  girl  between  London 
and  Liverpool,  sent  her  a  dream,  in  which  the  light  was  not 
sunshine  but  the  gas  lamps  of  a  certain  bookstall,  and  the 
world  was  filled  to  its  horizon  with  a  strange  presence  that 
was  not  husband  nor  child. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  evening  sky  was  one  perfect  arch  of  azure,  unflecked 
by  the  smallest  cloud,  stretching  over  the  valley,  from  rich, 
green  hilltop  to  hilltop,  when  Lydia,  from  the  side  of  the 
covered  wagon,  in  which  Bernard  had  driven  her  from  the 
station,  first  looked  out  upon  the  ranch. 

The  house  lay  bathed  in  golden  light  from  the  west  and 
shone  out  softly,  richly,  white  amongst  its  radiant  fields  of 
springing  crops.  A  glorious,  red,  swelling,  bluff  rose  im- 
mediately behind  it,  clothed  from  foot  to  summit  with 
slender  larch  and  pine  and  fir,  that  stood  up  distinct  and 
gold  on  the  edge  against  the  blue  light  of  the  sky.  Throwing 
the  reins  on  the  horse's  back  Bernard  sprang  from  the 
wagon  and  almost  lifted  Lydia  in  his  arms  bodily  and  set 
her  on  the  neat,  raised,  ^gravel  platform  before  the  open 
house  door.  Seizing  the  upper  part  of  her  arm  in  a  strong, 
excited  grip,  he  gently  pushed  her  in  before  him  over  the 
quiet  sun-smitten  threshold,  into  the  large,  cool  shade  of  the 
house. 

"Oh,  Bernard,  what  a  lovely,  large  and  altogether 
charming  house!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  round  her. 

He  bent  down  over  her  and  pressed  his  lips  passionately 
on  hers. 

"My  empress,  my  queen,  it  is  not  good  enough  for 
you !  It  is  nothing.  I  wish  I  had  a  palace  to  see  your  beauty 
in!" 

The  force,  the  intensity,  the  passionate  admiration, 
almost  adoration,  in  the  words  caused  her  to  look  up  a  little 
wonderingly  and  her  great  brilliant  eyes  rested  on  him. 
He  drew  back  from  her  as  an  artist  from  a  wondrously 

149 


150  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

lovely  picture,  and  all  his  delight  in  her  was  stamped  upon 
his  face.  She  saw  it,  and  thrill  upon  thrill  pierced  her 
nerves:  it  was  herself,  her  beauty,  that  stirred  him,  she 
knew;  he  had  called  her  an  empress,  and  she  saw  that 
indeed  here  she  had  an  empire.  A  flush  burnt  in  his  cheeks : 
the  fire  of  love,  joy  and  possession  seemed  glowing  in  his 
eyes,  trembling  through  all  lu's  frame.  How  handsome  he 
was — not  one  bit  spoiled  in  this  year  they  had  been  sepa- 
rated. His  physique  had  only  grown  a  little  finer,  stronger, 
more  virile,  more  imposing  than  before.  The  warm,  clear 
white  of  the  skin  was  the  same:  the  magnificent  swelling 
throat  and  finely-moulded  chin  appealed  to  her  more  than 
ever.  Her  heart  began  to  leap  in  a  joyous  tumult  as  she 
looked  up  at  his  immense  form,  strong  and  lithe  and  shapely, 
towering  over  her. 

She  opened  her  arms  to  him  suddenly  with  a  little  glad 
cry. 

"How  happy  I  am!  How  I  love  you!" 

A  sense  of  intoxication  seemed  to  sweep  up  through 
Bernard's  being  to  his  brain,  suddenly,  as  when  a  man 
drinks  recklessly  a  draught  of  brandy  after  long  fasting. 
It  was  some  wild  dream  surely,  that  this  exquisite  girlish 
face  and  form,  radiant  in  all  the  fresh  unfolding  beauty  of 
seventeen,  stood  here  actually  with  open  arms  before  him 
and  was  his.  All  the  soft  colouring  in  her  cheeks,  the  light 
of  her  eyes,  the  gleam  on  her  silky  hair,  the  wonderful 
warmth  and  soft  sweet  fragrance  about  her,  seemed  filling 
all  the  room,  floating  everywhere  on  the  atmosphere  round 
them.  To  this  lonely  man,  waiting,  working,  hoping,  in  the 
absolute  stillness  of  his  solitary  existence  in  his  empty  house, 
wearied  out  sometimes  by  his  day's  toil,  in  his  silent  evenings 
the  dream  of  this  woman's  presence  had  become  almost  a 
reality.  Now  its  reality  so  disordered  the  senses  it  almost 
seemed  a  dream. 

He  made  a  step  forward  unsteadily:  would  she  vanish 
like  his  mocking  visions  ? 

No,  she  was  real:   he  gripped  her,  caught  her,  strained 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  151 

her  close  to  him:  the  warm  bosom  heaved  against  his:  the 
little  soft  lips  fluttered  to  meet  his:  the  warm,  lustrous  eyes 
looked  smilingly  up  into  his  as  he  crushed  her  roughly, 
unsparingly,  hungrily  to  him.  And  she  yielded  herself 
gladly.  She  was  so  sorry  for  him:  she  understood  so  well 
what  this  past  lonely  year  had  been  to  him.  She  would 
compensate  him  now  to  the  utmost  of  her  powers. 

"We  have  forgotten  the  child,"  she  said,  laughing,  as 
she  escaped  from  his  arms  at  last.  "Come  with  me  and 
bring  her  in."  She  held  herself  from  him  a  little  and  he 
gazed  on  her  rich  vivid  face  with  its  glow  of  rose  in  the  cheeks 
and  the  lustre  of  its  great  velvet  eyes  under  the  white,  tran- 
quil brow,  where  the  gleaming  silk-like  hair  rose  from  it 
in  soft  waving  masses.  "Come,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  he 
followed  her. 

They  found  the  child  peacefully  asleep  in  its  rugs  and 
shawls  and  Bernard  carried  it  into  the  house  and  laid  it  on 
a  sofa. 

"Is  it  not  a  very  pretty  baby — just  like  you,  Bernard?" 
she  questioned,  looking  down  at  the  flower-like  face  amongst 
the  rugs.  It  was  the  beauty  of  the  child  that  called  up  in 
Lydia  all  an  artist's  adoration  of  any  loveliness,  rather  than 
that  the  fact  of  its  being  her  child,  spoke  to  her  maternal 
instincts. 

"Yes,  it  is  lovely,"  assented  Bernard.  "How  could  it 
be  otherwise  with  such  a  mother?" 

"Nonsense,  it  isn't  a  bit  like  me,"  returned  Lydia,  laugh- 
ing. "Now,  let's  come  and  look  at  the  house." 

They  went  from  room  to  room:  out  of  the  large,  well- 
lighted,  comfortable  sitting-room  opened  the  kitchen  with 
all  the  latest  appliances — stoves,  tables,  dressers,  and  every 
equipment  that  American  skill  could  invent  and  hard-earned 
money  could  buy. 

"What  a  lot  you  must  have  spent,  how  hard  you  must 
have  worked,  how  you  must  have  saved!"  exclaimed  Lydia, 
with  grateful,  wondering  eyes.  "And  everything  is  so 
bright  and  clean,  how  could  you,  just  one  person,  do  it  all?" 


152  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Because  I  was  doing  it  for  you"  he  murmured  in  her 
ear,  the  strong  delight  beating  in  all  his  veins,  thickening 
his  speech  and  driving  the  hot,  red  blood  to  his  temples  as 
he  looked  down  on  her. 

They  were  standing  by  the  kitchen  window,  and  before 
them  on  a  gentle  downward  slope  rolled  the  velvet  fields  to 
where  masses  of  giant  trees  marked  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
and  beyond  these  again  towered  the  arrogant  red  bluffs 
through  the  golden  quivering  air  towards  the  wondrous  blue 
of  the  Arizona  sky. 

A  perfect  peace,  an  unbroken  quiet  lay  over  everything. 
Within  the  house  was  shade  and  absolute  stillness:  without, 
fierce-burnished  light,  but  equally  silence.  For  a  hundred 
miles  on  every  side  but  one  lay  open  country  unmarked  by 
any  sign  of  human  habitation,  uncontaminated  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  destroyer  Man:  the  destroyer  of  peace,  of  beauty, 
of  joy,  of  life.  To  the  east  alone  civilisation,  in  the  form  of 
a  baby  branch  railway  line  and  a  tiny  rustic  station,  whence 
they  had  driven  that  day,  approached  to  within  forty  miles 
of  them.  Bernard's  ranch  was  the  only  one  in  the  valley, 
and  to  communicate  with  human  life  at  all  he  had  to  drive 
forty  miles  to  the  east  or  a  hundred  in  any  other  direction 
and  pierce  through  the  encircling  ring  of  mountains  called 
The  Chain.  Beyond  these,  in  neighbouring  valleys,  lay 
scattered  ranches  here  and  there,  and  at  long  intervals  tiny 
villages.  Bernard  had  had  men  to  work  for  him  from  time 
to  time,  and  in  the  early  days  when  the  ranch  had  been 
little  but  a  wilderness  he  had  seldom  been  without  one  or 
two  helping  him  in  his  work  of  reclaiming  it.  But  now  all 
was  in  good  working  order,  and  when  he  had  written  for 
his  wife  to  join  him  he  had  given  his  man  a  holiday.  The 
man  had  gone  joyfully,  for  few  besides  Bernard,  with  his 
splendid  courage  and  unwearying  tenacity  of  purpose,  could 
stand  the  deathly  sunlit  stillness  of  the  ranch.  Bernard 
alone,  single-handed,  did  the  whole  work  within  and  without 
the  house:  rode  after  his  cattle,  felled  his  trees,  made  his 
fences,  milked  his  cows,  lighted  his  fires,  cooked  his  food, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  153 

and  kept  the  house  sparkling  with  cleanliness  for  those  two 
months  before  her  coming,  filled  to  overflowing  with  joy 
and  energy,  endued  with  the  magic  strength  of  a  great 
hopeful  desire.  And  now  she  was  here :  the  great  day  had 
come:  and  those  two  stood  alone  together,  the  only  two 
human  beings  in  that  sun-filled  silent  valley,  hidden  away 
from,  forgotten  by,  the  world,  unknown  to  it,  in  the  midst 
of  the  fertile  paradise  which  his  ceaseless  labours,  his  un- 
remitting toil,  had  made. 

They  both  felt  a  supreme  sense  of  happiness,  the  primal 
happiness  of  Eden.  How  fortunate  it  is  that  for  the  time 
our  pleasures  so  absorb  us  that  they  shut  out  all  fear  of  the 
future,  that  it  seems  as  it  does  Impossible  to  us  we  can  ever 
change  or  tire. 

When  Bernard,  with  joyous  pride,  conducted  her  up  the 
one  short  flight  of  stairs  that  led  to  the  upper  storey — an 
addition  he  had  made  himself  and  the  furniture  for  which 
he  had  fashioned  with  his  own  hands — and  showed  her 
their  room,  Lydia  felt  the  same  whole-hearted  delight,  the 
same  pleasure  that  excluded  all  else  from  her  mind,  which 
she  had  experienced  a  year  ago,  on  her  wedding  night. 
They  were  together.  She  wanted  and  asked  nothing  else, 
nor  did  it  seem  possible  she  would  ever  want  or  ask  more 
than  this.  She  looked  at  him.  How  splendid  he  was  and 
he  was  hers.  Her  joy  was  in  the  man  himself  just  as  it  had 
been  when  she  married  him.  She  looked  at  him  and  her 
heart  beat  quickly.  He  satisfied  that  eager  demand  for 
beauty  that  was  a  natural  impulse  in  her.  She  felt  over- 
joyed as  she  watched  him  move  and  speak  and  smile  just 
as  she  had  done  years  back  when  the  new  doll  had  been 
triumphantly  purchased  and  she  could  squeeze  its  sawdust- 
filled  body,  peer  into  its  eyes,  stroke  its  hair  and  pinch  it  to 
hear  its  wonderful  squeak.  She  moved  round  the  room 
beside  him,  examining  everything  because  he  had  made  it, 
and  wanted  her  praise,  pulled  out  the  drawers  from  the 
chests  and  shut  them  again,  sat  on  all  the  chairs  and  looked 
into  the  mirror,  beautifully  framed  by  himself  in  rosewood- 


154  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Everything  is  lovely,  I  never  knew  you  were  so  clever, 
you  have  done  wonders,"  she  said,  with  flashing  eyes  looking 
at  him,  "but  you  are  the  most  enchanting  thing  of  all.  If  I 
were  camping  out  there  with  no  roof  but  a  cedar  tree  I  should 
be  happy  in  your  arms." 

Bernard  stopped  still  and  looked  back  at  her.  "Come, 
then,"  he  said,  stretching  them  out  to  her,  and  clasping  her 
to  him  he  covered  her  face  with  kisses. 

"I  am  mad,  I  think,"  he  said,  "mad  with  joy  at  having 
you  out  here,  you  must  not  make  me  worse.  Come,  I  will 
carry  you  down  to  supper.  I  am  selfish.  You  have  had 
nothing  to  eat  for  hours." 

Without  trouble  he  carried  her  down,  and  the  girl  lay 
against  his  breast  in  a  dream  of  delight  of  the  most  superb 
confidence  in  the  fate  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"BERNARD,  how  beautiful  the  world  is!" 

"And  how  beautiful  some  things  are  in  it!  especially 
some  women!"  he  answered,  laughing,  fixing  his  glad,  keen, 
triumphant  eyes  upon  her. 

They  were  sitting  side  by  side,  their  backs  against  a 
fallen  tree  trunk,  with  glade  beyond  glade  in  the  forest  open- 
ing before  them,  and  floating  far  up  above  the  giant  tree 
tops  over  their  head  the  fierce  unchanging  azure  of  the  sky. 
It  was  the  height  of  the  noonday  heat  and  all  was  still  round 
them:  a  burning,  sultry  silence  reigned  unbroken,  such 
as  broods  in  the  desert  and  that  seemed  well  suited  to  the 
tawny,  savage  beauty  of  Nature  in  this  place.  It  was  the 
wild,  free,  grand,  untameable  beauty  of  America:  of  spring 
in  Southern  Arizona:  not  the  sweet,  tender,  delicate,  vir- 
ginal beauty  of  spring  in  England,  with  its  soft  mists  of 
green  amongst  the  newly-budding  trees  and  faint  tints  of 
rose  and  amber  in  the  dewy  field  flowers,  nor  yet  the  glori- 
ous, triumphant,  radiant  beauty  of  the  east,  the  all-con- 
quering brilliance,  the  gorgeous  wonder  of  the  tropics, 
but  a  burning,  magnificent,  barbaric  beauty  that  belongs  to 
America  alone.  Rich  and  fertile  as  the  foliage  is,  it  is  not 
luxuriant  and  profuse;  there  is  always  the  suggestion  of  the 
desert  as  the  gold  sunlight  beats  on  it  in  the  dry,  still  air: 
always  the  suggestion  of  desolation  and  solitude  in  its  grand- 
eur and  immensity,  always  a  hint  of  aridity  in  its  red-glow- 
ing bluffs  pushing  up  against  the  fervid  blue  of  the  sky. 
And  spring,  so  dainty  and  pale  and  shy  in  England,  looks 
out  upon  you  boldly  here  in  the  arid  zone  with  fierce  hot 
eyes  and  the  torrid  sunlight  flaming  on  her  brow.  Here, 

155 


156  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Spring  comes  to  no  sleeping  Nature  wrapped  in  a  white 
pall  of  snow,  as  in  England,  to  free  it  from  its  chill,  frosty 
bonds  with  the  soft  touch  of  her  pale  rose  fingers.  Here, 
all  through  the  winter,  Nature  has  been  warm  and  alive, 
full  of  superb  and  glowing  beauty,  throbbing  under  cloudless 
skies  in  the  liquid  gold  of  never-ending  sunshine.  All  the 
winter  have  the  steep,  dry  slopes  blazed  with  the  cedar  trees 
in  full  glory  of  golden  blossom  or  of  rich  purple  fruit;  all 
the  winter  the  low-spreading  clumps  of  the  manzanita  bush 
have  been  brilliant  with  leaves  and  the  gleaming  pink  and 
white  of  its  flowers  that  distilled  their  heavy  fragrance 
through  the  dazzling  air;  ah1  the  winter  have  the  bees  hummed 
merrily  and  the  flowers  bloomed  and  the  butterflies  floated 
like  wonderful  coloured  banners  over  the  dry,  warm,  ruddy, 
sunlit  earth.  What  then  can  Spring  do  in  such  a  land, 
with  such  a  rival  in  Winter,  except  appear  in  still  fiercer 
beauty,  more  scorching  lights  and  heats  ?  The  grass  springs 
everywhere,  a  vivid  emerald  green,  f oh1  owing  some  short, 
wild  tempests  that  she  throws  upon  the  earth,  and  this 
brilliant  emerald  carpet  replaces  the  brazen-coloured, 
parched  and  withered  grass:  the  days  lengthen  and  the 
frost  no  longer  gleams  silver  on  the  leaves  in  the  sweet, 
pearly  mornings,  the  birds  sing  with  more  frenzied  rapture 
as  Spring  pours  her  madness  into  them,  and  in  the  soft, 
hot  nights,  from  the  depths  of  the  forest,  come  the  wild 
cries  of  the  animals  rioting  under  the  magic  of  her 
sway.  By  these  signs  only  and  the  torrid  glare  of  noon 
can  you  know  her  here  from  her  milder,  gentler  sister 
Winter. 

In  England  Spring  wakes  the  dormouse  from  its  winter 
sleep;  in  Arizona  it  is  the  bear  that,  hungry  and  desperate, 
she  lures  from  his  rock  caves  to  be  her  playmate  in  the  fierce 
yellow  heat  of  the  long  days.  The  Chain  Valley  is  un- 
utterably beautiful  with  a  violent  untamed  beauty  that  heats 
the  blood  of  the  few  who  find  their  way  into  it  and  are 
privileged  to  look  upon  it.  As  one  stands  on  one  of  its 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  157 

elevated  plateaus,  a  sloping  ridge  of  golden  earth  between 
two  higher  peaks,  on  which  great  giant  firs  stand  towering 
above  one's  head,  thrusting  their  red  boughs  and  deep 
emerald  foliage  into  the  blue,  where  the  cedar  trees  stand 
in  the  scorching  light  a  blaze  of  sheer  topaz,  and  the  spread- 
ing manzanita  bushes  riot  round  one's  feet,  with  their  in- 
toxicating sweetness  weighing  on  one's  senses,  one's  eyes 
can  sweep  round  the  lilac  chain  that  encloses  the  favoured 
valley  a  hundred  miles  across  and  see  innumerable  lesser 
peaks  and  slopes  rising  and  falling,  red  and  scarlet  and 
amber,  clothed  with  the  dark  fir  or  the  feathery  larch  or 
the  fiery  gold  of  the  cedar,  and  the  valleys  are  bowls  of  blue 
between  the  hills. 

Amongst  the  more  rocky  peaks  lie  the  great  canons 
which  are  the  peculiar  glory  of  Western  America,  canons  so 
deep  that  whole  forests  grow  upon  their  sides,  gigantic 
fissures  between  the  hills  cut  in  a  million  years  by  the  spark- 
ling stream,  that  now  seems  gushing  so  idly,  so  merrily, 
along  its  rocky  bed.  Sheer  and  steep  are  the  sides  of  the 
canon  in  places,  where  the  shelving  rock  gives  no  foothold 
even  to  the  •war}'  feet  of  the  bear,  the  cougar  and  the  wild 
cat;  at  others  a  larch  copse  or  a  fir  forest  will  stretch  one 
velvet  slope  from  the  sun-baked  ridge  above  down  to  the 
very  margin  of  the  crystal  stream. 

Here  in  these  canons,  in  the  hot  white  nights  when  the 
wine  of  Spring  is  in  all  their  blood,  the  wild  creatures  fight 
together,  sending  up  weird  cries  to  the  sky  ablaze  with 
planet  and  moon  and  star. 

Bernard  and  Lydia  were  going  up  through  the  Chain 
Valley  on  horseback  towards  Flagstaff,  where  they  would  go 
on  to  the  Grand  Cation  of  the  Colorado  River.  It  was  to 
be  a  pleasure  trip  for  them  to  take  the  place  of  the  con- 
ventional wedding  journey  which  they  had  never  had.  It 
was  the  spring,  the  busy  tune  for  him,  when  there  was  much 
work  on  the  ranch.  Still,  he  had  got  away  just  for  this  few 
days'  trip,  leaving  some  hired  men  in  charge.  To  the  wife 


158  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

of  one  of  them  Lydia  had  entrusted  the  baby,  and  they  were 
like  two  children  out  together  on  a  holiday,  over-running 
with  joyous  excitement  at  their  freedom. 

They  mounted  their  horses  again  and  rode  on  through 
the  endless  green  forest  that  covered  the  whole  of  this  par- 
ticular table-land  they  were  traversing,  startling  the  scream- 
ing blue  jays  that  fled  before  them,  putting  the  deer  to 
flight  from  the  stream  where  they  had  gathered  to  drink. 
Sometimes  the  branches  of  fir  and  larch  and  pine  were  so 
thickly  intertwisted  that  no  sun  penetrated  them  and  all 
beneath  was  deep  green  coolness.  They  rode  on  till  the 
evening  light  filled  the  sky,  and  then  after  riding  by  a  hundred 
spots  as  not  pretty  enough  to  camp  in,  they  chose  one  ex- 
quisite as  any  bower  in  a  lyric  poem.  A  tiny  brook, 
sparkling  and  clear  between  mossy  banks  and  miniature  wet 
beaches,  ran  by,  and  near  it  stood  three  cedar  trees  in  full 
golden  flower.  Between  these,  growing  close  to  the  ground, 
rich  in  thick  protective  foliage,  they  pitched  their  bed; 
they  had  no  need  of  a  tent,  but  as  a  protection  against  the 
mad  skunks  which  roamed  in  the  forest,  they  had  brought 
a  light  wagon-sheet  with  them,  which  they  fastened  to  the 
low,  thick-foliaged  branches  of  the  cedars;  this,  secured, 
touching  the  ground  in  the  centre,  but  drawn  well  up  on  all 
sides,  they  half  filled  with  the  fresh,  delicious  cedar  boughs, 
heavy  with  perfume  and  gold  blossom,  and  leaving  a  loose 
corner  of  the  wagon-sheet  to  draw  over  them  for  a  roof  when 
they  were  inside,  they  built  as  near  an  imitation  of  the 
tomtit's  nest  as  clumsy,  bungling  man  could  hope  to  achieve. 
This  done  a  crackling  fire  was  soon  made  up  and  lighted, 
formed  of  the  same  precious  cedar  wood,  that  in  burning 
diffuses  a  scent-like  incense  on  the  still  evening  air.  Their 
kettle  filled  at  the  crystal  stream  and  set  on  the  clear,  small 
flame  to  boil — for  the  cedar  wood  burns  like  some  precious 
substance,  hot  and  red  and  clear,  with  a  smokeless,  or  all 
but  smokeless,  flame — there  was  nothing  more  for  the  moment 
to  do  but  lie  on  the  fine  sandy  soil  by  the  trees  and  look  across 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  159 

stream  and  valley  and  velvet  slope  to  the  far-distant  lilac 
hills. 

That  night  they  slept  well  in  their  fragrant  tomtit's  nest 
and  did  not  waken,  stretched  on  the  springy  boughs,  till  the 
inquisitive  blue  jays  screeched  at  them  in  the  morning, 
when  the  birds  came  in  their  brilliant  multitudes  to  bathe 
in  the  brook. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  just  dawn  and  Aurora  stepped  across  the  Eastern 
sky  to  unbar  the  rose-hued  gates,  leaving  footprints  of  golden 
light  behind  her  on  the  soft  grey  clouds. 

Over  the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado  River  hung  snowy 
mists,  a  swaying  sea  of  white  vapour  moving  a  little  to  one 
side  or  the  other,  rising  and  falling  as  the  breeze  blew  thin 
wraiths  of  it  hither  and  thither,  but  always  concealing  jealously 
the  awful  grandeur,  the  mighty  abyssmal  depths  beneath. 

The  gates  in  the  East  were  unbarred  and  a  flood  of  rosy 
light  rushed  through  the  awakening  sky.  The  pine  forests 
awoke,  tossing  up  their  branches  with  glad  murmurs  to  the 
light,  and  the  whole  joyous,  beautiful  animal  world  roused 
itself  to  the  delight  of  a  new  day.  Shafts  of  light  fell  obliquely 
into  the  canon,  and  the  whirling  mists,  pierced  by  them, 
grew  thinner  and  more  transparent,  dissolving  impercepti- 
bly into  the  pure  gold  air  of  the  morning.  Longer  and 
more  brilliant  rays  shot  across  the  level  plain  and  fell  abruptly 
over  the  edge  into  the  dark  mystery  of  the  canon,  as  the  sun 
rose  steadily  and  mounted  higher  in  the  smiling  blue  of 
the  waiting  sky.  And  in  the  full  flood  of  gold  the  last  veil 
of  clinging  vapour  rose  and  melted  also  into  clear  gold, 
and  the  whole  wonder  and  glory  of  this  stupendous  master- 
piece of  God  lay  revealed.  It  is  His  masterpiece — nothing 
that  language  has  ever  described,  nor  the  mind  of  man 
conceived,  nor  the  hand  of  God  created,  can  surpass  the 
majesty,  the  wondrous  beauty  and  glory  of  this  one  creation. 
Standing  on  the  extreme  edge  this  great  chasm  descends 
a  mile  deep  into  the  earth.  It  is  thirteen  miles  across  to 
its  opposite  edge,  while  its  whole  length,  receding  on  either 

ItJO 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  161 

side  of  one,  stretches  away  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  The 
canon  at  dawn  is  full  of  a  luminous  purple-blue  gloom:  a 
blue  so  marvellous  in  its  richness  and  transparency  that  its 
equal  does  not  exist  in  the  known  quarters  of  the  world; 
not  in  the  tints  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  nor  in  any  Eastern 
dye,  nor  in  the  depths  of  the  desert  sky,  is  there  such  a 
brilliant  richness  of  transparent  blue  darkness  as  this  canon 
encloses  at  sunrise  and  after  sunset  within  its  magic  walls. 
As  one  looks  into  this  home  of  blue  shadow  it  seems  as 
if  the  whole  world  or  many  worlds  were  lying  spread  out, 
decked  hi  peculiar  glory,  at  one's  feet:  for  the  giant  river, 
the  great  Colorado,  working  through  millions  of  years,  has 
cut  and  carved  and  shaped  and  fashioned  the  rocks  into 
every  form  and  outline  that  matter  can  assume,  and  sink- 
ing slowly  downwards,  gradually  over  its  whole  thirteen  miles 
of  breadth,  lowering  its  bed,  cutting  deeper  throughout  those 
long  centuries  its  beautiful  cradle,  it  has  left,  as  it  receded, 
the  marvel  of  its  workmanship. 

As  the  sun  grows  higher  and  some  of  its  rays  touch  the 
yellow  sandstone  pinnacles,  turning  them  into  flaming  gold, 
great  cities  seem  to  start  into  life,  below  one,  in  those  blue 
recesses,  for  the  patient  water,  working  on  the  sandstone, 
has  carved  it  into  thousands  of  architectural  forms.  Here 
there  seem  palaces  massed  together  and  there  a  Gothic 
cathedral:  spires  and  arches  and  domes  without  number 
rise  one  behind  another,  and  there  are  infinities  of  smooth 
terraces,  streets  and  roads  between,  a  whole  city  with  all 
the  beauty  of  a  great  city  rises  up,  dazzling,  as  if  built  in 
gold,  with  the  clear  blue  vapour  beneath  and  round  it,  and 
this  city  is  but  a  pinnacle  of  sandstone  rising  from  the  bed 
of  the  river — the  great  builder — and  it  is  but  one  of  a  million 
such  glorious  and  magic  pinnacles  that  glow  gold  and  amber 
and  topaz  colour,  crimson,  scarlet  and  blood  red,  according 
to  the  tint  of  the  sandstone,  as  the  sun  touches  them.  City 
after  city,  all  the  cities  of  the  world  surely  are  here,  but  much 
more  beautiful  than  any  mortal  cities  in  form  and  colour, 
marvels  of  architecture. 
11 


162  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Towards  eight  o'clock,  when  the  strengthening  flood  of 
sunlight  was  pouring  down  the  rocks,  dispelling  the  trans- 
parent waves  of  blue  vapour,  Lydia  and  Bernard  came  slowly 
riding  down  the  narrow  trail  that,  starting  from  the  edge, 
winds  round  the  crest  of  gilded  and  scarlet-tinted  pinnacles, 
clings  to  this  forest-covered  slope,  follows  that  glittering 
sandstone  ridge,  descending  gently  mile  by  mile  through 
the  glorious  panorama,  cleaving  the  mysterious  blue  shadows, 
down  into  the  heart  of  the  canon.  Of  all  the  wonders  and 
glories  in  this  exquisite  world,  on  which  man  is  the  only 
blot,  this  canon,  this  stupendous  work  of  fantastic  archi- 
tecture, executed  by  the  river  alone  through  millions  of  past 
ages,  is  the  supreme  crown.  Nothing  in  Nature  can  sur- 
pass it,  nothing  that  man  has  ever  achieved  can  even  faintly 
approach  it.  Lydia  felt  a  joy  rushing  through  her  as  she 
gazed  from  side  to  side,  such  as  holy  men  have  represented 
filling  the  veins  of  saints  while  being  wafted  to  Paradise. 
Everything  commonplace,  ordinary,  worldly,  had  been  left 
behind  them  on  the  plain  above.  Here  on  every  side  round 
them  was  nothing  but  majestic  forms  of  rock  and  cliff  and 
ridge,  set  out  in  a  scheme  of  vivid  and  dazzling  colour 
under  a  stainless  sky,  with  glorious  wells  and  lakes  and  pools 
of  blue  shade  to  give  divine  mystery  to  the  whole. 

The  river,  the  great  Colorado,  the  wonder-worker  of  it 
all,  was  not  yet  visible.  After,  in  its  countless  ages  of  work, 
it  had  fashioned  this  wondrous  mighty  cradle  for  itself  out 
of  the  red  and  yellow  sandstones,  it  found  it  had  reached 
hard  granite,  dark  and  implacable,  and  in  this  it  attempted 
no  carving,  no  exquisite  pillar  and  portal  and  throne.  Straight 
down  for  fifteen  hundred  feet  it  sank  its  bed  in  the  granite, 
and  now  between  these  unyielding,  impressive  walls  it  rushes 
on,  all-powerful,  all-conquering. 

"Bernard,  how  wonderful  this  is!  People  talk  of  heaven 
and  fairyland;  they  need  only  come  here  to  get  both.  Don't 
you  think  it's  wonderful  ?  And  it  is  so  vast!  Why,  it  looks 
as  if  all  England  could  drop  into  one  of  its  valleys  and  be 
lost!" 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  163 

Bernard,  ahead  of  her  on  the  narrow  trail,  stopped  and 
looked  back.  "I  thought  you  would  like  it,"  he  said,  with 
a  pleased  smile. 

The  sun  was  growing  hot  now,  the  air  was  quite  still, 
for  little  wind  drops  over  the  lip  of  the  canon  and  penetrates 
its  warm  and  glowing  recesses.  The  shrill  clamour  of  the 
cicala  singing  came  to  them  from  all  sides.  A  little  low 
and  twisted  tree  clung  to  the  side  of  the  trail  and  gave  them 
shade  as  they  paused.  On  each  side  of  them  the  ridge  fell 
away  thousands  of  feet,  sloping  down  into  chasms  of  clear 
blue  shadow,  spanned  here  and  there  by  a  fantastic  bridge 
of  rock  that,  harder  than  the  rest,  had  resisted  the  carving 
tooth  of  the  water,  and  so  was  left  swung  up,  high  and  glit- 
tering, bridging  the  space  from  peak  to  peak  or  ridge  to 
ridge,  while  the  chasm  beneath  grew  ever  deeper,  yielding 
before  the  incessant  tunnelling  out,  the  worrying,  erosive 
touch  of  the  eddying  water. 

Lydia  gazed  on  the  scene  silently;  never  had  she  felt  so 
lifted  out  of  herself  and  above  all  common  things.  Her 
gaze  leapt  about  from  one  dazzling  rich  point  to  another 
over  those  dark  defiles  of  blue  between,  from  carven  gold 
terrace  jutting  out  over  space  to  isolated  pinnacle  flashing 
scarlet  in  the  sun,  from  rock  plateau,  on  which  a  colossal 
Taj  Mahal  seemed  carved  in  snowy  whiteness,  to  purple 
pyramid  beyond.  Every  hue  is  here  and  every  shade  and 
tint,  but  these  only  start  out  in  detail  when  the  eye  looks  for 
them.  The  great  scheme  of  colour  is  crimson  and  dark  blue: 
that  is  the  dominant  note  of  the  whole. 

Even  the  birds  in  the  canon  are  luxurious.  On  every 
ledge  and  pinnacle  and  terrace  they  have  their  baths,  of 
porphyry,  of  marble,  of  jade  and  alabaster  they  seem,  small 
rounded  bowls,  carved  out  by  the  dexterous  waters,  smoothed 
and  exquisitely  polished  in  a  million  years  by  them,  and 
then  left  high  on  the  burning  rocks  where  else  there  would 
be  no  reservoirs,  no  baths  for  the  birds  to  drink  from  and 
bathe  in. 

On  the  summit  of  one  conical  rock  that  lifted  its  fiery 


164  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

crest  from  the  ocean-like  depths  of  shadowy  blue  beneath 
an  eagle  had  built  its  nest  in  solitary  grandeur,  and  there 
on  that  inaccessible  peak,  for  no  ridge  of  earth,  or  spur  of 
mountain,  or  bridge  of  rock  reached  out  to  it,  the  bird  sat 
brooding  on  its  young,  while  the  male,  with  wide,  out- 
stretched wings,  skimmed  away  over  blue  space  until  he 
was  lost  to  view  amongst  the  countless  grand  defiles,  the 
endless  vistas  of  gorges,  peaks  and  mammoth  terraces  of 
glittering  rock.  Lydia  gazed  upon  it  all,  lost  in  thought, 
fascinated,  until  Bernard's  voice  roused  her. 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  "we  must  go  on.  I  am  longing 
to  see  the  river  itself,  the  author  of  all  this,  the  great  master: 
it  has  painted  the  greatest  picture  of  the  world,  executed 
the  greatest  piece  of  sculpture,  hasn't  it,  Bernard  ?  Is  it 
not  wonderful  ?  Without  hands  and  without  eyes  it  has 
surpassed  all  that  all  the  men  in  the  world  have  ever  done." 

Bernard  laughed.  He  was  delighted  at  her  wonder 
and  her  praise.  "Yes.  I  haven't  seen  all  the  world,  but 
I  believe  there  is  nothing  like  it  anywhere.  I  have  never 
read  or  heard  of  anything  approaching  it." 

They  were  going  on  slowly  now,  descending :  with  every 
quarter  of  a  mile  the  view  changed :  new  colours,  new  forms, 
came  before  the  eye:  now  one  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the 
Acropolis  of  Athens  hewn  out  of  solid  gold  and  rising  ma- 
jestically from  its  clinging  veils  of  clear  dark-blue  atmosphere; 
at  another  turn  in  the  trail  the  maze  of  delicate  spires  of 
rock,  the  rounded  blocks  shaped  to  circular  form,  recalled 
irresistibly  the  minarets  and  domes  of  the  East,  and  from 
some  eminence  one  seemed  gazing  at  Jerusalem.  They 
went  on  in  silence:  words  seemed  to  lose  their  value,  to 
become  so  inadequate  to  express  its  wonder  and  its  magic, 
the  thin  piping  of  the  human  voice  seemed  to  profane  the 
great  stillness,  the  awe-inspiring  beauty  round  them. 

It  grew  towards  noonday  and  the  heat  reflected  from  all 
sides  by  burnished  stone  became  intense:  the  deep  blue 
vapour  in  the  chasms  all  but  disappeared,  not  to  regather 
in  them  till  after  sunset:  all  was  bright,  flaming,  garish 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  165 

colour  now  and  less  lovely  than  the  effect  at  dawn.  The 
afternoon  came  and  they  stopped  by  a  group  of  welcome 
trees  and  lunched,  then  mounted  again  and  pressed  on  in 
their  descent,  longing  to  come  upon  the  river.  When  they 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  it,  lying,  as  it  seems  at  that  distance, 
motionless,  a  dull  gold  snake,  two  thousand  feet  still  below 
them,  Lydia  felt  like  a  devotee  that  penetrates  the  dun 
recesses  of  the  temple  to  the  idol's  shrine.  For  the  last 
fifteen  hundred  feet  to  the  actual  edge  of  the  water  is  a  straight, 
clean  drop  through  the  black  granite,  and  only  by  a  tiny 
trail  cut  in  the  side,  wide  enough  only  for  a  footway,  can 
one  descend  lower.  They  tethered  their  horses  on  a  green 
spit  of  soft  turfy  land  hi  a  minor  canon  and  then  entered 
singly  on  foot  the  dark  rocky  trail.  Little  grows  here  but 
fierce  and  savage  plants  that  seem  suited  to  the  frowning 
hardness  and  blackness  of  the  rocks.  As  they  descended 
Lydia  had  to  stop  many  tunes  to  free  her  skirts  from  the 
great  hooked  fingers  of  the  giant  camel  thorn  springing 
from  clefts  in  the  granite.  Sure-footed  and  eager  she  sped 
on  endlessly  down  and  down,  it  seemed,  that  narrow,  winding, 
giddy  ledge  of  rock,  but  at  last  the  lowest  depths  were  reached, 
the  level  of  the  river.  The  granite  cliffs  run  down  straight, 
uncompromising  walls  into  the  actual  current,  in  places, 
but  in  others  the  river  has  carved  out,  even  of  them,  coves 
for  itself  and  made  a  floor  to  them  of  grey  sand:  in  one  of 
these  the  trail  debouches,  and  when  Bernard  and  Lydia 
reached  this  at  last  and  saw  the  colossal  body  of  water  hurl- 
ing itself  along  its  granite  bed,  she  threw  herself  flat  and  put 
her  lips  to  the  margin  of  the  magic  flood,  as  Catholics  kiss 
the  feet  of  St  Peter  at  Rome. 

They  sat  on  the  sand  together,  silent,  awestruck,  gazing 
on  the  mighty  worker  whose  masterpiece  they  had  seen. 
Calm  on  the  surface,  enormous,  irresistible,  the  river  rushes 
by,  so  swift  in  its  course  that  a  stick  thrown  in  is  swept 
instantly  from  sight.  In  colour  it  is  thick  brown  gold  and  it 
moves  by  like  some  solid  mass ;  there  are  moments  when  one 
can  hardly  believe  that  it  is  water. 


166  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"What  a  contrast  this  last  gorge  is  to  the  part  above/* 
murmured  Lydia,  looking  up  the  straight,  black  walls  of 
granite.  "Above  there  is  such  vivid  colour,  such  heat  and 
light,  here  it  is  almost  cold,  and  no  colours  but  black  and 
grey  and  the  dull  gold  of  the  river  itself." 

They  did  not  dare  to  stay  long  in  their  cove  of  grey  sand 
for  the  granite  trail  in  the  side  of  the  precipice  had  to  be 
climbed  by  the  daylight.  Lydia  would  have  sat  on  there 
incautiously  for  hours,  watching  the  mighty,  resistless  rush 
of  the  river  as  it  swept  by  them,  stirred  by  the  swirl  of  air 
sucked  through  by  it,  awed  by  the  force,  the  hugeness,  the 
solemn  silence  of  it  all,  but  Bernard  kept  looking  at  his  watch 
and  worrying  her  about  the  passing  hour,  until  they  were 
both  mounting  the  trail  again,  Lydia  affected  with  the  same 
melancholy  that  invades  the  Hadji  turning  away  from  Mecca. 

When  they  reached  the  green  spit  of  turf  between  the 
rocks  where  their  animals  were  peacefully  grazing,  the  rosy 
light  of  approaching  evening  illuminated  all  the  sky  from 
side  to  side  and  the  blue  glow  in  the  canon's  million  recesses 
had  come  back  to  them.  It  is  a  feature  of  the  canon  and 
it  is  neither  haze  nor  mist,  as  sometimes  falsely  called.  The 
rosy  glow  of  evening  is  well  known,  the  blue  glow  of  the 
canon  is  the  same  in  transparency,  in  quality,  in  brilliance, 
only  the  colour  is  dark  blue  instead  of  rose.  It  is  the  effect 
of  light  on  the  atmosphere  and  to  its  depth  of  transparent 
colour  there  is  no  equal  except  the  clear  blood-coloured 
glow  of  the  Aurora  Borealis  in  northern  skies.  Under  the 
enchanting  evening  light  the  citadel  and  dome,  minaret, 
terrace,  peak  and  spire,  rising  up  from  the  bottom  of  the 
canon,  jutting  out  from  the  sides,  rising  one  behind  the 
other  in  bewildering  array,  seemed  to  take  on  more  brilliant 
colours  from  the  sky.  Their  summits  were  bathed  daz- 
zlingly  in  gold  or  tipped  with  flame,  while  slowly  round  their 
bases  and  in  their  great  dividing  chasms  rose  deeper  and 
ever  deeper  in  tint  the  dark-blue  glow  of  the  atmosphere. 

For  once  she  was  selfish  and  let  Bernard  do  the  work  of 
the  camp,  while  she  sat  silent,  gazing  on  the  scene,  trying  to 


LIFE'S    SHOP   WINDOW  167 

hold  it  with  her  eyes  and  stamp  its  image  into  her  memory 
for  ever.  Receptive  and  intelligent  as  Bernard  was  she  felt 
it  did  not  mean  the  same  to  him  as  to  her.  He  looked  upon 
it  with  pleasure  and  enjoyed  it,  and  there  an  end.  To  her 
it  seemed  as  if  its  beauty  drew  her  soul  through  her  eyes  up 
to  a  heaven  of  which  she  had  never  dreamed.  The  spit  of 
level  green  land  on  which  they  were  resting  was  a  shelf,  as 
one  might  say,  in  the  side  of  one  of  the  minor  canons  that 
the  river  in  its  countless  windings  has  left  behind.  Im- 
mediately facing  her  the  other  side  of  the  canon  went  up, 
a  straight  wall  of  scarlet  sandstone,  smooth  for  a  thousand 
feet,  then  near  the  top  terraced  and  battlemented  against 
the  radiant  sky.  Looking  down  the  canon  this  great  wall 
continued  some  two  thousand  yards,  then  fell  back  as  the 
gully  widened,  and  rising  at  the  end,  majestically  placed 
on  a  colossal  plateau  of  rock  in  the  midst  of  a  fathomless 
abyss  of  blue,  one  of  the  magic  cities  of  the  canon  came  into 
view.  The  sunset  light  fell  over  it  and  the  whole  city  seemed 
of  solid  gold,  its  domes  and  spires  flashing  out  a  million 
rays  of  reflected  light.  Lydia  gazed  at  it,  lost  in  reverie, 
and  it  seemed  to  her,  so  perfect  was  the  illusion,  that  those 
straight  streets  between  the  buildings  were  peopled;  little 
lights  and  shadows  between  the  irregularities  of  the  rock 
gave  the  idea  of  figures  seen  at  some  distance,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  throngs  of  people  were  passing  up  and  down  its  golden 
ways. 

In  the  centre  of  the  city  was  an  open  square  before  one 
of  the  great  domed  buildings,  and  gazing  on  this  Lydia 
remembered  where  she  had  seen  its  counterpart,  in  a  picture 
of  Jerusalem,  the  great  square  of  the  temple  of  Solomon, 
the  Haram  es  sherif  of  the  Turks.  This  seemed  to  be  a 
fortified  city,  just  as  Jerusalem  is,  and  in  its  solid  gold  walls 
were  arched  gates  with  fretwork  and  machicolations  over 
them,  through  which  the  visionary  throngs  of  people  seemed 
passing  to  and  fro.  All  round  the  city  floated  the  unfathom- 
able, impalpable  sea  of  blue  vapour,  it  alone  on  its  solid 
plateau  of  rock  stood  out  brilliant  as  the  sun  flooded  it. 


168  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

As  the  setting  rays  shifted  and  changed  over  it,  new  buildings 
started  into  view,  fresh  minarets  and  spires  flashed  out, 
while  others  sank  into  gloom  as  the  light  left  them.  Then, 
as  the  sun  fell  to  another  angle,  the  whole  city  became  veiled 
in  the  mysterious  blue  vapour,  obscure  and  dim,  while 
instantly  beyond,  another  loftier  pinnacle  started  into  sight 
flaming  with  fiery  red,  and  a  thousand  other  cities,  for  miles 
down  the  great  canon,  glowed  and  gleamed  scarlet  and 
amber  and  topaz  out  of  the  blue  abyss,  rich  in  dome  and  spire 
and  fretted  arch,  a  marvellous  panorama  of  all  the  cities 
of  the  world  brought  before  the  vision  at  once.  Wonderful 
illusion,  like  some  gorgeous  dream. 

Lower  and  lower  sank  the  sun  in  the  roseate  sky,  higher 
and  higher  rose  the  mystic  blue  of  the  canon,  floating  over 
carved  dome  and  fretted  spires,  submerging  city  after  city 
beneath  a  transparent  sea,  till  only  the  loftiest  crests  of  rock, 
the  highest  pinnacles,  were  left  still  glowing  blood  red  in 
the  light  above  the  magic  flood. 

On  this  friendly  spit  of  land  Bernard  made  their  camp, 
lit  their  fire  and  then  came  and  sat  by  her.  Silent,  side  by 
side,  they  watched  the  phantom  glory  shift  and  change  about 
them.  It  was  hot  here  with  tropic  heat  and  stillness:  not 
a  sound  came  to  them  save  the  incessant  song  of  the  cicala 
from  every  rock  and  bush.  Overhead  the  sky  flashed  and 
changed  from  pale  rose  to  gold  and  tranquil  green,  from 
blood  red  back  to  faint  rose,  and  in  it,  luminous,  in  pink 
glow,  behind  a  great  fretted  minaret  of  crimson  rock,  ap- 
peared suddenly  the  moon,  an  enormous  transparent  disc; 
pale  and  frail  as  white  tissue  it  floated  up  into  their  sight 
through  the  warm-hued  sky. 

They  drank  their  tea  and  ate  their  simple  meal,  and  then, 
unrolling  the  two  Navajo  blankets  they  had  brought,  stretched 
themselves  on  them  in  the  open.  There  was  no  fear  of 
rain;  a  multitude  of  stars  already  sparkled  faintly  in  the 
resplendent  sky.  There  was  no  thought  of  cold,  as  the 
heat  stored  up  by  the  rocks  in  the  day  steals  fiercely  out  at 
night.  Bernard,  worn  out  with  the  long  toil  of  the  day, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  169 

threw  his  arms  about  her,  put  his  head  down  on  her  shoulder, 
and  after  a  murmured  "Glorious  night,  isn't  it?"  fell  asleep, 
but  Lydia,  though  she  lay  still,  could  not  sleep.  Her  eyes 
were  wide  open,  staring  up  at  those  wondrous  heavens 
stretched  above  this  wonder  of  the  earth.  A  great  planet, 
like  a  casement  put  open  in  the  sky,  letting  through  a  burst 
of  silver  light,  was  before  her  eyes,  and  she  watched  it  rising 
slowly  behind  the  domes  and  castles  of  the  canon.  The 
whole  sky  was  spangled  over  with  stars,  but  none  had  the 
lustre  and  size  of  this  one,  and  waking  constantly  \hrough 
that  still  hot  night  from  her  excited  sleep  she  met  the  light 
from  it  again  and  again  in  different  places  as  the  sky  swung 
on  in  the  night,  but  always  fascinating,  magical. 

"How  happy  I  am!"   she  thought.     "How  delightful 
is  life  and  the  world." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  yellow  sunlight  fell  all  about  the  ranch,  blazing  in 
golden  glory  on  the  south  front  which  looked  across  the 
valley  to  the  steep-wooded  ranges  beyond.  It  was  very 
still,  with  the  solemn,  brilliant  stillness  of  Arizona  and  that 
glorious  peace  which  reigns  wherever  man,  with  all  his  hate- 
ful attributes,  is  absent. 

Lydia  sat  against  the  house  front  looking  south,  through 
the  burnished  light,  out  to  the  mighty  ranges  submerged 
in  their  sapphire-tinted  haze.  The  sun  felt  warm  on  her 
face  and  bosom,  all  over  her,  and  on  her  little  feet  stretched 
out  in  it.  She  was  not  afraid  of  it,  and  it  seemed  to  caress 
her,  touching  all  her  beauty  of  cheek  and  eye  and  hair  and 
finding  no  fault  anywhere.  She  sat  very  still  and  the  black 
pigs  came  and  trotted  past  her,  and  a  chipmunk  sat  close 
to  her  by  the  wall  of  the  house,  eating  undisturbed.  She 
was  thinking,  It  was  her  birthday.  She  was  twenty-three 
years  old.  Six  years  had  gone  by  since  she  had  come  out  to 
the  ranch,  six  years  of  golden  days,  slipping  silently  one  after 
another,  running  with  swift,  shining,  noiseless  feet  past  her, 
never  to  be  recalled  or  to  return.  She  could  not  tell  why, 
but  this  afternoon  her  thoughts  had  a  strange  activity:  her 
soul  seemed  rising  within  her,  calling  her  to  account,  demand- 
ing what  she  had  done  hour  by  hour  of  all  that  golden  tune, 
and  with  a  strange  sort  of  fear  and  anxiety  possessing  her 
she  went  carefully  back  in  memory  over  that  period,  scanning 
it,  weighing  it,  impelled  by  a  feeling  of  necessity  to  examine 
it.  It  seemed  incredible  that  six  years  had  gone  by,  but 
there  were  the  dates.  She  was  twenty-three  and  she  had 
only  been  seventeen  when  she  came  out,  but  these  six  years 

170 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  171 

had  not  added  to  her  knowledge  of  Life,  not  given  any  joys 
and  delights  she  had  not  known  before.  At  seventeen  she 
had  known  what  it  was  to  work,  to  love,  to  be  loved,  to  be 
a  wife  and  mother.  She  knew  no  more  now.  She  had  had 
Bernard's  love  and  passion  then,  she  had  it  now:  she  had 
made  a  deeper  acquaintance  with  pain  in  her  various  child- 
bearings,  she  had  worked  unremittingly,  there  had  been 
ceaseless  daily  toil  from  day  to  day.  She  had  had  more 
of  the  things  she  had  already  been  familiar  with,  but  nothing 
new,  nothing  fresh,  and  it  struck  her  suddenly  that  in  six 
years  Life  should  have  done  more  for  her  than  this. 

She  went  carefully  over  the  time.  How  she  had  worked! 
How  Bernard  had  worked!  It  was  a  life  of  toil.  For  him 
outside,  for  her  inside,  the  house,  rising  in  the  dark  and 
working  till  the  dark  came  round  again.  So  had  they  kept 
the  ranch  prosperous  and  the  house  a  model  as  it  stood  now 
clean  and  trim  with  the  sun  bright  in  each  corner  without 
a  speck  of  dust  to  sparkle  in  its  ray.  How  she  had  suffered 
too!  What  agonies,  three  times  in  those  six  years,  to  bear 
her  children,  and  then  what  mental  grief  she  had  gone  through 
in  that  one  fierce  summer  which  had  swept  away  the  three 
youngest  in  spite  of  her  ceaseless  care;  and  now  it  was  all 
past,  the  six  years  had  gone  and  she  sat  there,  the  same, 
with  the  same  house  behind  her,  the  same  blue  ridges  in  front, 
the  same  child  she  had  had  at  seventeen,  the  same  husband, 
still  the  same  beauty  and  health,  that  was,  as  yet,  unmarred, 
untouched — and  nothing  to  show  for  her  six  years.  That 
longing  for  Life  as  a  whole,  to  know  and  experience  it  in  all 
its  countless  different  forms,  that  is  common  to  human 
minds — at  least  some  human  minds — and  is  like  the  breath 
of  a  god  stirring  the  brain,  swept  over  her  now  as  it  had 
done  at  the  London  station  six  years  before.  And  a  sudden 
terror  grew  up  in  her,  as  it  had  done  then,  only  now  it  was 
wilder,  more  desperate,  to  think  she  had  pledged  herself 
irrevocably  to  know  only  this  one  phase  of  existence,  to  look 
only  on  this  single  facet  of  the  great,  sparkling,  wonderfully 
cut  jewel  we  call  Life. 


172  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

She  felt  resentment  against  Bernard;  he  had  induced 
her,  at  sixteen,  to  promise  all  sorts  of  things  to  him  that 
would  be  held  binding  on  her  all  her  life  long.  He  had  been 
more  than  thirty,  she  reflected,  when  they  married,  and  had 
already  held  the  jewel  in  his  hands,  turning  it  over  and 
seeing  its  various  lights  and  colours  for  as  many  years  as 
she  had  lived  altogether,  before  he  bound  himself  to  her. 
When  was  she  to  see  those  other  lights  and  colours  ?  Never  ? 

In  their  marriage,  too,  she  thought  next,  he  had  gained 
more  than  she  had  and  paid  less.  She  had  given  him  her 
youth  and  six  splendid  years  of  her  health  and  strength; 
she  had  worked  for  him,  lived  for  him,  and  for  their  mutual 
passion  she  had  submitted  to  days  of  agony,  to  the  sacrifice 
of  her  health,  to  the  burden  of  the  children  when  they  came. 
He,  while  he  also  had  worked  all  that  time,  had  worked  no 
more  than  would  have  been  necessary  had  he  been  on  the 
ranch  alone.  It  seemed  to  her  kind  heart  hard  and  selfish 
to  think  of  all  these  things  and  put  them  so  to  herself,  but 
there  was  something  stirring  within  her  to-day  that  she  could 
not  understand  nor  repress. 

She  went  back  in  memory  to  the  evening  of  her  first  coming 
out  here.  That  lovely  evening,  just  such  a  one  as  this, 
all  amber  lights  and  deep  gold  reflections  and  blue  depths 
of  distance,  the  enchantment  of  the  scene,  the  spell  upon  the 
senses,  the  ardour  of  their  passions,  the  mystic  violet  night 
when  she  had  felt  again,  after  her  year's  absence,  his  arms 
about  her,  pressing  her  to  his  leaping  heart.  But  then  it 
had  all  been  so  new  and  had  possessed  the  magic  of  new 
things.  Now  for  six  years  she  had  seen  the  amber  light 
play  on  the  eternal  hills  and  the  sapphire  evening  close 
over  them,  night  after  night,  she  had  been  clasped  by  those 
passionate  arms,  but  the  fires  were  less  and  the  magic  had 
gone.  In  all  those  six  years  she  had  had  very  little  time  to 
give  to  her  books  that  she  had  begun  to  love  with  such 
strong  passion  at  Tunbridge;  only  a  stray  hah*  hour,  very 
rarely,  here  and  there,  could  she  bestow  upon  them,  and 
sometimes  when  employed  in  her  ceaseless,  never-varying, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  173 

manual  toil  she  would  feel  a  wild  brain  hunger  stir  her 
almost  to  madness. 

Bernard,  never  very  deeply  intellectual,  in  those  six 
years  had  become  more  and  more  engrossed  in  the  work  of 
the  ranch,  less  and  less  interested  in  anything  outside  that. 
His  conversation  in  the  evenings,  when  he  was  not  too  tired 
to  speak  at  all,  was  always  on  the  price  of  cattle,  the  state 
of  the  grass,  the  fencing  that  was  down  in  the  pasture,  the 
possibility  of  the  rail  approaching  nearer  them.  He  seemed 
less  and  less  able  to  respond  to  his  wife  on  any  abstract 
theme,  less  receptive  of  her  ideas,  less  comprehensive  of 
anything  outside  their  own  life.  Clever,  keen  and  energetic 
as  he  was  in  everything  concerning  the  ranch  and  its  interest, 
the  artistic  and  intellectual  side  of  his  brain  seemed  going 
to  sleep,  while  that  of  his  wife's  was  waking  up,  growing 
more  and  more  restless,  eager  for  food  and  exercise,  with 
each  barren  year  that  went  by.  Lydia  found  it  quite  im- 
possible to  explain  to  him  the  terrible  aching  hunger  of  the 
intellect  that  was  with  her  all  day  long.  The  yearning  to 
read  and  think,  to  let  the  mind  fly  out  as  a  falcon,  over  the 
plains  of  reflection,  of  thought,  of  discussion,  to  give  it  light, 
air,  food.  No,  he  could  not  understand  that  the  minds  of 
some  people  need  this  just  as  much  as  the  body.  Had  he 
seen  his  wife  suffering  bodily  starvation  he  would  have  been 
distressed  beyond  all  measure,  had  he  seen  her  cheeks  pale 
for  want  of  fresh  air  he  would  have  exerted  himself  super- 
humanly  that  she  might  get  out  to  the  pine  woods  and  walk 
freely  there,  but  that  her  poor,  netted  mind,  struggling  for 
freedom,  in  this  mass  of  petty  duties,  cried  and  fought  and 
bled  within  her,  like  an  eagle  in  the  toils,  he  never  faintly 
realised,  nor  could  he  very  well  have  done,  so  completely 
unknown  to  himself  was  such  a  mental  state. 

How  often  in  the  deathly  stillness  of  those  long,  work- 
filled  afternoons  did  that  brief  glimpse  she  had  had  of  London 
recur  to  her.  London!  Sometimes  she  breathed  the  word 
aloud  to  herself  in  the  quiet  room,  with  a  strange  beating  of 
the  heart,  and  listened  awestruck  to  its  sound. 


174  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Sometimes  an  agonised  longing  swept  over  her  to  walk 
out  of  the  open  door,  walk  onward,  always  onward,  away 
from  the  valley,  still  on  somewhere,  seeking  she  knew  not 
what.  It  was  the  wild  impetus  of  the  human  mind  seeking 
a  companion,  the  mad  desire  of  the  soul  for  the  fire  as  well 
as  the  clay,  for  the  song  as  well  as  the  prose  of  Life. 

Suddenly  coming  up  towards  her,  through  the  wonderful 
topaz  light  of  the  evening,  she  saw  her  husband  approaching. 
Fine,  strong  and  powerful,  straight  as  one  of  his  own  young 
pines,  he  looked  a  noble  specimen  of  life  at  its  best.  He  was 
whistling  to  himself,  the  sun  struck  on  his  white  forehead 
and  nose  and  white  throat,  where  the  blue  jean  shirt  opened 
at  the  neck.  His  dress,  consisting  of  heavy  riding-boots 
coming  up  above  the  knee,  overalls  thrust  into  the  top,  a 
heavy  leather  belt  round  the  waist,  and  the  huge  sombrero 
of  soft  grey  felt,  had  a  certain  rough  picturesqueness  which 
harmonised  well  with  his  own  fine  type  of  physique  and  the 
barbaric  splendour  of  the  scene.  Lydia,  looking  at  h  m 
with  a  smile,  sprang  to  her  feet,  remembering  that  while 
she  had  been  dreaming  there  the  grate  was  empty  in  the 
kitchen,  the  water  cold  in  the  well,  even  the  wood  not  brought 
in,  nor  the  kitchen  wood-basket  filled;  she  could  not  give 
him  his  tea  instantly  as  usual  and  as  he  would  expect.  She 
had  dared  for  one  afternoon  to  sit  still,  to  be  idle,  to  think, 
and  as  a  consequence  the  whole  machinery  of  their  being  had 
stopped  still.  In  a  life  like  this  each  second  brings  its  duty, 
its  imperative  necessity  for  labour;  not  one  mouthful  to  eat 
not  a  draught  of  water,  can  be  obtained  till  the  due  amount  of 
work  is  performed. 

In  a  moment  Bernard  was  beside  her. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  for- 
gotten everything  this  afternoon,  nothing  is  ready  for  you. 
I  am  so  sorry." 

Bernard  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  and  then  laughed.  He 
had  a  sunny,  good-tempered  disposition,  partly  due  to  his  splen- 
did health,  and  the  idea  of  anyone  forgetting  their  necessary 
daily  work  seemed  to  him  rather  amusing  than  reprehensible. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  175 

"Well,  never  mind,"  he  answered.  "We'll  soon  get 
our  tea.  Got  the  fire  started  ?  " 

"No." 

"Is  there  any  wood  in ?" 

"No,  I  have  done  nothing.  I  began  thinking.  I  for- 
got everything." 

Bernard  stopped  short. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  he  asked,  looking  round. 

It  was  characteristic  of  their  life  that  he  should  feel 
something  extraordinary  must  have  occurred  to  make  any- 
one sit  still  and  think. 

"Nothing,  no,  nothing;  it  was  all  my  fault.  I  have 
never  kept  you  waiting  before,  have  I ?" 

"Never,"  he  answered,  smiling  upon  her.  "You  work 
tremendously.  Sit  down.  I'll  get  the  tea  for  a  change." 

But  Lydia  had  seized  the  kettle  and  run  out  to  the  well. 
In  a  second  he  heard  the  pump  handle  creaking.  He  laughed 
again  and  went  out,  whistling,  to  the  wood  shed. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour's  work  by  both  of  them  the 
fire  was  blazing,  the  kettle  boiling,  and  their  tea  on  the  table. 

"Bernard,  I've  been  thinking  I  should  so  like  to  go 
away  from  here  with  you  for  a  change  and  travel,"  she  said, 
when  he  was  drinking  it,  comfortably  ensconced  in  the 
armchair  opposite  her.  "You  see  we  have  only  the  one 
child  now,  we  are  both  young  and  well  and  strong,  we  should 
so  enjoy  it.  Do  you  think  we  could  possibly  manage  it?" 

"Well,  we  could,  if  we  sold  the  ranch,  but  I  am  afraid 
that's  impossible;  even  then  the  income  from  the  money  we 
should  get  would  hardly  allow  us  to  travel." 

"You'd  like  it,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Yes,  very  much,  but  it's  out  of  the  question  for  us,  I 
am  afraid.  I  couldn't  expect  to  get  much  more  than  len 
thousand  pounds  for  this  place  if  I  could  sell  it." 

"Ten  thousand  pounds,"  repeated  Lydia,  softly.  "Well, 
if  we  spent  that  we  could  have  five  years'  travel.  Think, 
Bernard,  for  two  thousand  a  year  we  could  go  everywhere, 
we  could  live  splendidly  and  see  heaps  of  places — go  all  over 


176  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

the  world  in  five  years.  Oh,  it  -would  be  such  fun."  Her 
eyes  glowed,  and  her  velvet  cheeks  dimpled.  In  imagina- 
tion she  saw  before  her  many  of  the  pictures  she  had  dwelt 
upon  in  her  books.  Turkey,  with  its  white  palaces  rising 
from  the  Bosphorus;  India,  with  its  ancient  civilisations; 
London,  with  its  wonderful  life  of  the  present.  The  vista 
of  movement,  change,  enchanted  her  fancy. 

Bernard  laughed. 

"Yes,  but  if  we  spent  it  all  in  five  years,  at  the  end  we 
should  have  nothing — no  money,  no  ranch,  we  should  have 
to  begin  at  the  very  beginning  again." 

"Well,  then  we  could  work  hard  every  day,  just  as  we 
do  now.  But  we  should  have  had  five  years'  holiday!" 

"But  with  no  capital,  you  see,  we  should  have  to  work 
for  other  people  instead  of  being  our  own  masters  and  work- 
ing for  ourselves,  and  having  our  own  house  and  land.  No, 
that  would  be  quite  impossible.  All  we  could  do  would  be 
to  travel  on  our  income,  which  I  am  afraid  would  be  too 
small." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  dully.  She  was 
looking  into  the  fire,  over  which  the  iron  kettle  swung  merrily. 
The  visions  of  life  faded  slowly  from  her  gaze  between  the 
red  coals. 

"I  expect  we  shall  have  to  stay  here  for  always,"  she 
said  gloomily,  after  a  minute. 

"I  don't  see  any  way  out  of  it,"  he  answered.  "Every- 
thing goes  on  first  rate  with  the  ranch  while  I  am  here,  and 
we  get  a  comfortable  living  out  of  it,  but  if  I  were  away  it 
would  all  go  to  pieces.  But  we  might  get  away  in  the  middle 
of  the  summer  or  middle  of  the  winter  for  a  time.  We  might 
go  to  places  near  here,  the  Yosemite  Valley,  for  instance — 
that's  lovely,  or  the  Grand  Canon  again.  We  might  do  that 
for  a  change." 

"That  would  be  nice,"  murmured  Lydia,  "but  we  should 
have  to  come  back?" 

"Yes,  of  course  we  should  have  to  come  back,"  he 
answered. 


LIFE'S     SHOP    WINDOW  177 

Lydia  was  silent,  and  kept  her  eyes  away.  It  was  not 
what  she  wanted,  going  away  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
eternally  coming  back  to  this  same  spot,  like  a  bird  tethered 
by  the  leg.  Youth  never  wants  to  come  back,  it  loves  going 
forward,  pressing  on  to  the  new,  the  unknown.  There  was 
no  time  then  for  more  conversation,  for  all  the  cows  had 
to  be  milked  before  dark,  and  Bernard  started  off  to  get  the 
pails  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  tea,  and  Lydia  had  to 
clear  away  and  wash  the  cups  and  prepare  the  supper,  which 
she  did,  with  a  curious  absent  look  on  her  face,  as  if  her 
mind  were  far  away. 

She  did  not  renew  the  conversation  at  supper  nor  after. 
There  was  something  within  her  struggling  for  expression 
but  she  did  not  quite  know  how  to  express  it,  and  the  few 
moments  after  their  supper,  before  eight,  when  they  went  to 
bed,  Bernard  gave  up  to  looking  through  some  illustrated 
papers  just  arrived  by  the  mail.  He  laughed  so  over  some 
jokes  and  seemed  so  thoroughly  comfortable  and  satisfied 
with  his  existence,  it  seemed  to  Lydia  selfish  to  disturb  him 
with  her  wandering  fancies. 

The  autumn  passed,  a  vision  of  glory,  a  blaze  of  splendour, 
and  winter  closed  in.  Not  the  winter  of  a  northern  clime; 
a  winter  of  sunny  days  when  the  temperature  stood  at  70°  as 
long  as  the  sun  was  up.  But  still  they  were  short  and  the 
nights  were  long  and  cold,  the  mornings  and  evenings  dark 
and  frosty,  and  towards  the  middle  of  the  winter  there  were 
heavy  snowfalls. 

Lydia  lived  mechanically.  Once  or  twice  she  spoke  to 
Bernard  about  their  going  away  and  he  indulgently  took 
her  view  and  thought  they  should  get  a  change,  though  it 
might  strain  their  finances  a  little,  but  the  Yosemite  Valley 
and  the  Grand  Canon  were  both  closed  by  the  snow  in  the 
winter  time;  there  was  nowhere  they  could  very  well  go 
just  then,  so  after  a  little  talk  and  discussion  it  was  agreed 
nothing  could  be  arranged  for  the  moment,  and  they  settled 
that  after  the  spring  work  on  the  ranch  was  over  they  would 
go  away  for  a  holiday  the  following  summer, 
12 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  evening.  A  bright  fire  sparkled  in  the  big  grate  of 
the  sitting-room,  and  Lydia,  sitting  at  one  side  of  the  hearth, 
watched  the  warm  red  light  leaping  from  one  familiar  object 
to  another  in  the  room.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  in 
the  other  deep  armchair,  lay  Bernard,  asleep;  dead  tired, 
worn  out  with  a  day  of  the  hardest  kind  of  work,  begun  at 
three  that  morning,  he  lay  motionless,  soundless,  wrapped 
hi  a  blank  dead  sleep  with  his  head  resting  on  the  high  arm 
of  the  chair  towards  the  fire.  Lydia 's  eyes  rested  on  him 
meditatively  at  times  in  their  wanderings  round  the  room, 
and  saw  how  the  bright  red  light  made  the  gold  threads 
in  the  thick  brown  hair  shine  and  how  softly  it  fell  on  the 
firm  white  outlines  of  the  face.  He  was  just  as  handsome 
as  he  had  always  been,  but  those  red-gold  threads  were  no 
longer  like  cords  attached  to  her  heart,  making  it  leap  with 
wild  pleasure  as  they  tugged  at  it.  Who  shall  explain  that 
departing  of  power  to  excite  passion  from  familiar  things  ? 

She  was  too  kind-hearted  to  wake  him,  nor  did  she  even 
wish  to  do  so.  Had  she  wakened  him  it  would  only  be  for 
him  to  suggest  they  should  go  to  bed,  and  sleep  was  far 
from  Lydia's  eyes  and  brain.  She  felt  wild,  mad,  that 
night,  as  she  sat  so  quietly  opposite  him  in  the  tidy,  com- 
fortable room;  wild  with  longing  for  the  greater  gifts  of 
life,  mad  with  desire  for  a  change,  for  mental  light  and  air, 
mad  to  knock  open  a  door  somewhere  in  these  straight 
narrow  walls  of  her  life  and  step  into  some  field  without 
of  freedom  and  action.  She  had  risen  at  the  same  time  as 
her  husband  in  the  cold  dark  of  the  whiter  morning  and 
worked  as  hard  as  he  had  done  all  day,  but  now,  though 

178 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  179 

her  body  was  tired,  her  brain  was  on  fire,  the  strong  restless 
brain  she  had  inherited  from  her  father,  a  brain  not  suited 
to  the  hard-working,  simple  lives  of  the  poor.  That  wanted 
food  and  exercise  too,  and  in  a  life  like  hers  there  was  no 
time,  no  opportunity  to  attend  to  its  wants.  She  had  read 
all  the  week's  illustrated  papers  through  and  laid  them 
aside,  she  had  tried  to  get  up  a  discussion  with  Bernard  on 
a  letter  in  the  Times,  but  poor  Bernard,  tired  to  death  and 
sleepy,  and  with  no  fire  in  his  brain,  had  listened  with  a 
sort  of  apathetic  admiration  to  her  brilliant,  animated  talk, 
without  response.  At  last  Lydia  had  lapsed  into  silence, 
a  dangerous  burning  silence  of  thought,  and  Bernard,  re- 
lieved, had  dropped  quietly  to  sleep.  Now  she  sat  revolving 
the  peaceful  scene,  the  quiet  day  just  passed,  the  quiet  even 
day  that  would  take  its  place  to-morrow  and  for  a  hundred, 
two  hundred  to-morrows  in  succession.  They  would  not 
be  able  to  go  to  England  that  year,  nor  anywhere,  money 
was  too  short.  She  glanced  down  on  herself  in  the  firelight. 
She  had  hurried  over  her  work  that  afternoon,  and  full  of 
the  strange,  nameless  excitement  that  came  over  her  so  often 
now,  had  run  upstairs  to  dress  early,  and  spent  more  time  on 
her  toilet  than  usual.  She  had  put  on  her  best  dress,  a  dull 
red  cloth,  which  fitted  her  admirably,  and  a  high  white  collar 
round  her  slim,  distinguished-looking  neck;  she  had  piled 
up  the  shining,  waving  masses  of  her  black  hair  on  her  head 
with  care,  and  looking  into  her  glass  when  ready  to  come  down 
had  recognised  that  she  was  a  wonderfully  beautiful  object 
to  look  at.  Bernard  had  kissed  her  as  usual  on  coming  in, 
but  he  was  so  accustomed  to  her  looking  well  and  he  looked 
at  her  so  perpetually,  all  yesterday,  and  the  days  before 
stretching  back  for  ages,  and  she  would  be  there  of  course  to 
look  at  to-morrow  and  the  next  day,  and  the  day  after  that 
for  ages,  so  there  was  no  particular  reason  why  he  should 
keep  awake  to  look  at  her  that  evening.  Therefore  he 
quietly  dropped  to  sleep.  Lydia  understood  it  all.  She 
did  not  blame  him.  She  understood  everything,  but  oh, 
how  this  mad  fire  burnt  in  her,  sitting  in  that  stillness,  only 


180  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

broken  by  the  sedate,  regular  ticking  of  the  large  clock 
on  the  wall  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire.  How  she  longed 
for  something  to  happen,  for  the  walls  to  fall  flat,  for  people, 
for  voices,  for  music,  for  movement,  for  conversation,  for 
laughter,  for  excitement,  for  the  whispers  and  the  blushes 
that  hide  the  passions,  for  the  noise  of  a  great  city,  for  the 
leaping  of  another  heart  against  her  breast  as  the  arms  steal 
round,  for  the  kiss,  for  the  dance,  for  large  rooms,  over  the 
floors  of  which  her  feet  could  glide,  for  changing  scenes, 
for  floods  of  light,  for  hurrying  motion,  in  a  word — for  Life. 

She  thought  of  the  early  days  of  passion  with  Bernard 
and  her  whole  being  throbbed,  then  she  saw  herself  driving 
fast  in  a  hansom  through  London  streets,  lighted,  and  in 
the  whirl  and  roar  of  the  traffic.  Then  the  railway  plat- 
form came  before  her — the  bookstall  and  the  man's  figure 
that  had  been  standing  there,  his  face,  how  clear  it  was  to 
her,  that  look  he  had  thrown  upon  her.  It  had  burnt  into 
her  brain  never  to  be  effaced. 

Suddenly,  in  the  soft  black  quiet  of  the  night  outside  there 
was  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  road  which  stopped  abruptly, 
with  a  heavy  grind,  by  the  house.  Lydia  sprang  to  her  feet, 
electrified  in  every  quivering  fibre,  and  stood  listening.  Yes, 
the  bar  of  the  yard  gate  was  being  lifted.  Something  was 
going  to  happen,  someone,  some  strangers,  were  coming  to 
put  up  at  the  ranch.  For  a  moment  she  did  not  stir,  stand- 
ing looking  down  on  Bernard,  who  continued  to  sleep  tran- 
quilly. Then  she  heard  some  voices,  and  she  ran  to  the 
door,  tearing  it  wide  open,  letting  a  great  stream  of  golden, 
ruddy  light  out  into  the  yard,  where  the  snow  lay  lightly 
powdered  on  everything.  She  leant  forward  and  looked  out, 
her  heart  leaping  in  her  breast  with  joyous  excitement.  A 
four-wheeled  wagon  with  two  horses  had  already  entered 
the  yard,  and  seeing  her,  the  driver  turned  his  horses'  heads 
to  the  door. 

"Good-evening,  ma'am.  Is  this  Chetwynd's  ranch?" 
he  asked,  and  looking  up  at  the  wagon,  which  was  a  covered 
one,  Lydia  saw  three  heads,  and  three  faces  rather  white 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  181 

and  cold-looking,  peer  anxiously  out  at  her.  The  cold  air 
streaming  in  and  the  sense  of  confusion  roused  Bernard, 
who  came  to  the  door  and  then  passed  by  his  wife  into  the 
yard. 

"Yes,  this  is  Chetwynd's  ranch.  Come  in,  whoever 
you  are,  and  have  supper,"  he  said  at  once,  going  up  to  the 
wagon  at  the  side  and  beginning  to  unfasten  the  cover  flaps. 
The  driver  jumped  down  and  began  to  unharness  the  horses. 
Lydia  saw  the  figures  rise  and  move  in  the  wagon,  and  as 
the  flaps  were  put  up  a  quantity  of  small  luggage  was  dis- 
closed at  the  back.  Bernard  shouted  to  the  driver  to  take 
his  horses  out  and  put  them  into  the  stable  at  the  other  side 
of  the  yard;  the  ranch  dogs  came  up,  barking  and  wagging 
their  tails  at  the  same  time,  confused  by  so  much  unusual 
excitement.  One  by  one  the  figures  jumped  down  from 
the  side  of  the  wagon,  two  men  and  a  woman,  the  latter  of 
whom  was  carefully  helped  down  last.  They  all  wore  soft 
felt  deer-stalking  hats  and  were  wrapped  in  long  rough 
travelling  cloaks.  Lydia  heard  them  laugh  and  make  some 
disjointed  remarks  to  each  other,  and  knew  at  once  by  the 
clear  tones  and  soft  timbre  of  their  voices  they  were  English 
and  of  the  higher  English  ranks.  Out  of  the  great  world, 
from  home,  from  England,  from  London,  from  the  great  shop 
of  the  world,  they  had  come,  and  all  her  pulses  bounded  with 
joy,  the  very  flesh  of  her  body  seemed  to  tingle  as  she  saw 
them  approaching  towards  her  over  the  snow-covered  ground, 
the  dogs  leaping  and  snuffing  round  them.  They  would 
bring  her  again  into  touch  with  Life.  She  felt  as  the  sinking 
swimmer  in  the  sea  as  he  grasps  the  end  of  the  line  flung  to 
him.  He  is  not  on  the  steamer,  but  the  other  end  of  the 
cord  is,  and  hope  and  new  strength  rushes  into  him  along  it. 

Both  men  raised  their  hats  as  they  came  up  to  where 
Lydia  stood  in  the  warm  blaze  of  light  from  the  room  be- 
hind her. 

"This  is  a  great  intrusion,  I  am  afraid." 

"No,  indeed,  you  are  most  welcome,  we  are  so  delighted 
to  see  strangers  here,"  Lydia  answered,  stretching  out  her 


182  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

hand  American  fashion.  "Come  in  to  the  fire.  You  must 
be  frozen,  driving  to-night." 

"How  delightful  this  is,"  the  woman  exclaimed,  as 
they  all  poured  over  the  threshold.  She  was  quite  young, 
with  a  pale,  oval,  high-bred  face,  stamped  with  a  curious 
used-up,  weary  expression;  one  of  the  men,  who  might  have 
been  her  father,  was  tall,  with  that  peculiar  distinctive 
carriage  and  air  that  marks  the  soldier,  and  the  other  man — 
As  Lydia's  eyes  fell  on  him  in  the  full  light  of  the  bright 
room,  lights,  fire,  faces,  all  seemed  to  die  out  and  a  huge 
booming  sound  filled  her  ears.  She  was  back  again  on  the 
station  platform  at  the  bookstall.  This  was  the  same  man, 
the  same  face,  that  had  glanced  at  her  for  a  moment  there 
and  remained  clear  in  her  memory  and  sometimes  thought  of 
since.  She  recognised  instantly,  the  rather  thin,  handsome 
features,  the  pale  level  eyebrows,  the  quiet,  long,  blue-green 
eyes,  the  smooth,  light  hair,  the  lines  of  much  passed  through 
and  passions  repressed,  she  had  noticed  then.  For  a  second 
the  shock,  the  surprise,  the  refusal  of  her  reason  to  believe  in 
such  a  curious  coincidence,  paralysed  her,  but  her  sudden 
silence  and  pause  only  seemed  to  the  rest  like  a  momentary 
embarrassment,  and  the  woman  of  the  party  broke  it  up  by 
asking  if  she  might  take  off  her  wraps.  Lydia  immediately 
recovered  herself. 

"Yes,  please  do,  and  take  this  chair,"  she  said,  "and 
won't  you  take  off  your  overcoats  and  sit  down,"  she  added, 
turning  to  the  men.  "Of  course  you  will  stay  with  us  now  ? 
We  have  plenty  of  room." 

"Well,  we  have  our  tents  with  us,  we  intended  to  camp 
here  if  we'd  got  in  earlier;  we  don't  like  the  idea  of  putting 
you  out,"  the  elder  man  answered. 

Lydia  laughed,  and  just  then  Bernard  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  bringing  in  a  light  yellow  handbag  in  each  hand. 

"Where  are  the  guns?"  said  the  girl,  springing  up  from 
the  big  chair  suddenly  and  standing  with  her  hands  thrust 
down  into  the  pockets  of  her  long  travelling  coat  that  still 
hung  loosely  on  her.  "Do,  Mr  Chetwynd,  see  that  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  183 

man  takes  them  out  carefully;  we've  had  one  broken 
already." 

"I'll  bring  them  myself,"  answered  Bernard,  setting 
down  the  bags  and  disappearing.  The  driver  came  in  next 
with  a  small  leather  portmanteau  and  a  bundle  of  bedding. 
Then  Bernard  came  back,  struggling  with  a  collection  of 
gun  cases,  and  the  men  went  forward  to  help  him. 

"That's  right,  Pelham,  stack  them  up,  they'll  take  less 
room  like  that,"  Lydia  heard  the  older  man  say.  In  a  few 
minutes,  when  some  cases  of  provisions,  tenting  and  tent 
poles  had  been  added,  the  whole  end  of  the  room  was  pretty 
well  filled  up.  Lydia  gazed  on  the  handsome  yellow  leather 
luggage  with  a  curious  feeling  of  pleasure.  Scratched  and 
battered  with  hard  usage  as  it  was  it  spoke,  like  its  owners, 
of  those  other  mysterious  spheres  of  life  far  from  that  which 
revolves  on  an  American  ranch. 

"I  should  like  just  to  see  that  the  horses  are  all  right," 
said  the  man  whom  Lydia  had  heard  called  Pelham. 

"All  right,  come  out  and  see  them  in  the  stable,"  said 
Bernard,  and  he  and  Pelham  disappeared. 

"I  think  there  ought  to  be  some  introductions,"  remarked 
the  woman,  stretching  out  her  feet  to  the  fire  and  looking 
up  at  Lydia  with  a  laugh. 

"This  is  my  husband,  Colonel  Bristowe,  and  my  name 
is  Kate  Bristowe,  and  the  other  man  is  Eustace  Pelham, 
camping  with  us.  We  were  told  there  was  only  Mr  Chet- 
wynd  and  Mrs  Chetwynd  on  the  ranch,  so  I  suppose  you  are 
Mrs  Chetwynd  ?  You  see,  I  am  trying  to  be  quite  American. 
The  Americans  have  a  perfect  passion  for  introductions, 
haven't  they,  and  for  'locating'  you.  Can  you  'locate'  us 
now,  do  you  think?" 

Lydia  laughed. 

"Perfectly,  I  think,  thank  you,"  she  answered.  "I  was 
quite  sure  you  were  all  English  when  I  first  heard  you  speak, 
and  that  was  quite  'location'  enough  for  me.  You  can't 
possibly  camp  anywhere  to-night,  it's  too  late,"  she  added, 
stirring  the  fire  into  a  still  stronger  blaze,  "and  I  do  wish  you 


184  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

would  decide  to  stay  here,  instead  of  in  camp,  all  the  time 
you  are  in  the  district.  Have  you  had  good  shooting  up  till 
now?" 

"Perfectly  abominable,"  answered  Mrs  Bristowe,  re- 
signedly, "haven't  we,  Jack?  We've  been  about  in  the  hills 
round  here  for  a  month  now,  and  only  got  one  wretched  deer. 
We've  been  nearly  starved  too,  living  on  oatmeal  and  tea. 
The  people  round  here  always  told  us  'there's  deer  here, 
there's  deer  there'  and  we've  religiously  followed  their 
directions,  but  we  have  never  even  seen  any  except  this  one 
miserable  doe,  and  that  Pelhain  luckily  shot." 

"I'm  sorry;  there  are  lots  of  deer,  I  know,  round  about, 
but  they're  difficult  to  find.  I  suppose  you  drove  up  from 
Longridge  now — did  you  come  in  that  way  ?" 

"Yes,  we  came  in  from  Longridge.  They  told  us  your 
place  was  only  twenty-five  miles  off,  but  it  seemed  like 
ninety-five,  with  that  cold  snow  driving  in  our  faces.  But 
we're  well  rewarded  now  we're  here,"  she  added,  looking 
round  the  large,  well-ordered,  well-furnished,  well-lighted 
room.  "You  have  got  a  comfortable  place  here  and  I 
can't  believe  you're  quite  alone.  You  must  keep  a  dozen 
servants  locked  up  somewhere." 

Lydia  laughed  and  flushed. 

"No,  really,  we  have  no  servants,  we  do  everything 
ourselves.  You  can't  get  servants  here,  or  if  you  do  by 
chance,  they  want  a  dollar  a  day  at  the  least,  and  then  they 
are  so  troublesome,  they  want  to  be  your  equal  and  sit  with 
you  and  eat  with  you  and  all  that." 

Bernard  and  Pelham  came  back  just  as  she  finished 
speaking,  and  the  others  made  room  for  them  at  the  hearth. 

"I  will  see  to  the  supper,  Lydia,  if  you  will  get  the  rooms 
ready  for  them,"  Bernard  said,  and  Lydia,  with  a  smiling 
excuse,  took  up  one  of  the  lamps  and  left  the  room. 

She  went  upstairs  to  the  two  unused  rooms  on  the  same 
floor  as  her  own,  and  entering  one  set  down  the  lamp  on  the 
table,  closed  the  door,  and  then  sank  down  on  a  chair  by  the 
dressing-table. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  185 

She  felt  neither  the  great  cold  of  the  room  nor  thought 
of  her  errand.  She  was  absorbed  for  the  moment  in  the 
strangeness  of  it  all.  The  Israelites  walked  round  Jericho, 
wishing  the  walls  to  fall  flat,  and  the  accommodating  walls 
are  reported  to  have  done  so.  Not  more  astonishing  was  her 
wild  longing  for  Life  this  evening,  and  this  sudden  inroad  of 
Life,  in  the  shape  of  these  strangers,  upon  her.  Her  walls 
had  fallen  flat  indeed.  And  this  man,  this  Pelham,  that 
out  of  all  the  five  millions  in  London,  the  one,  the  particular 
one  she  had  seen  and  noted,  should  be  the  one  to  come  to 
this  out-of-the-way  nook  of  the  world,  thousands  of  miles 
from  the  place  where  she  had  seen  him  before !  And  his  look 
at  her!  Doubtless  he  did  not  recognise  her,  a  woman  seen 
once  in  a  crowd  at  a  bookstall,  but  Lydia  knew  the  look. 
It  was  the  same  she  had  felt  upon  her  then :  the  same  rather 
cold  admiration,  the  same  reserved  interest,  the  same  arrested 
attention.  And  Lydia,  sitting  in  the  empty,  half-lighted 
room,  seemed  to  feel  the  blood  rise  as  a  tide  in  her  veins 
and  then  pour  in  a  scarlet  stream  over  all  her  face,  for  she 
knew  she  was  beautiful  and  that  she  could  command,  com- 
pel, this  man's  admiration  and  interest  the  same  as  she  could 
any  man's,  but  never,  never  had  she  cared  for  any  as  she 
felt — wondering  and  surprised  at  herself — that  she  did  for 
this.  No,  no:  rapidly  she  looked  back  over  the  road  of 
life  she  had  traversed,  back  to  the  days  at  Anderson's  Farm; 
never  had  she  cared  like  this.  When  she  had  seen  Bernard 
she  had  admired  him,  coveted  him  eventually  as  she  had 
the  big,  sawdust-body  doll  in  the  shop,  and  she  had  accepted 
his  love  and  passion  gladly,  gaily,  naturally,  without  thought. 
But  this  great  interest  that  the  stranger's  face  awoke  in  her, 
this  sudden,  excessive  wish  that  he  should  look  at  her,  see 
her,  admire  her,  just  the  same  wish  that  had  swept  over  her 
at  the  station,  what  was  it?  Why  did  she  feel  it?  Where 
did  it  come  from  ?  She  hated  it.  It  humiliated  her.  Was 
it  only  because  he  seemed  so  representative  of  the  life  she 
always  really  had  leant  to  and  coveted  ?  The  life  of  the  city  ? 
The  life  of  gentlepeople  who  had  others  to  work  for  them 


186  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

and  were  surrounded  by  gentlepeople  instead  of  the  common, 
stupid  people  she  had  to  meet  ?  The  life  to  which  her  hus- 
band belonged  and  to  which  she  always  had  some  vague 
feeling  that  she  belonged  too?  No,  it  wasn't  that,  because 
the  old  Colonel  downstairs  was  as  distinguished,  as  much  a 
representative  of  the  class  as  this  other  man,  and  Lydia  felt 
that  the  old  Colonel  might  look  at  her  all  day  with  the  most 
undisguised  admiration  and  she  would  not  even  feel  pleased. 
No,  it  was  some  special  influence  that  the  other  possessed. 
Some  power  in  the  glance  that  was  inexplicable,  unreasonable, 
intangible,  and  yet  could  not  be  denied.  She  stretched 
out  her  hands  from  her  suddenly,  in  the  cold  dim  air,  as  if 
warding  off  a  blow  or  some  horrible  sight.  Then  a  burst 
of  laughter  reached  her  from  below  and  she  recollected 
how  much  she  had  to  do.  And  for  him.  For  this  man 
Pelham.  He  was  her  guest,  dependent  upon  her.  The 
great  bounding  tide  in  her  blood  was  flowing  hard  now. 
She  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked  round.  This  was  the  best 
room.  He  should  have  it.  She  ran  to  the  linen  chest  out- 
side, where  the  linen  was  kept  after  drying  and  airing,  and 
got  out  sheets,  toilet  covers,  lace  curtains,  hooks  and  pins. 
Her  hands  and  feet  flew  to  do  her  bidding.  Long  practice 
had  made  her  deft  and  active.  In  a  short  time  she  had  the 
curtains  up  in  both  rooms,  the  beds  made,  and  the  toilet 
covers  spread.  All  that  was  left  now  was  the  laying  and 
lighting  of  the  fires.  She  brought  in  baskets  of  wood  from 
the  wood  cupboard  outside  and  laid  and  lighted  them, 
waiting  till  they  had  burnt  up.  Then  she  raced  downstairs 
with  a  jug  in  each  hand  to  fill  at  the  pump  in  the  yard.  She 
went  out  at  the  back  door  and  so  passed  round  outside  the 
dining-room,  where  she  could  tell  by  the  voices  and  laughter 
they  had  all  gathered.  The  water  was  unfrozen  and  hi  a  few 
minutes  she  was  up  in  her  rooms  with  the  filled  jugs.  She 
heaped  some  more  wood  on  the  fire  in  the  Colonel's  room 
and  looked  round  quite  satisfied.  Then  she  passed  into 
Pelham 's,  and  holding  the  lamp  above  her  head  surveyed 
it  thoughtfully.  Could  she  do  anything  more?  It  looked 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  187 

bright  and  cheerful  enough  now  with  the  fire  roaring  up  the 
chimney  and  the  light  dancing  over  the  room,  from  the  spot- 
less curtains  at  the  window  to  the  large  comfortable  bed 
and  the  cushioned  rocking-chair.  Yes,  there  was  that  little 
bare  table  in  the  centre.  She  ran  to  her  own  room,  stripped 
from  the  table  there  its  bright,  pretty  blue  cloth  and  vase 
full  of  red,  frost-bitten  leaves  gathered  that  morning,  and 
brought  them  into  Pelham's  room.  These  arranged  upon 
the  table  she  rinsed  her  hands  in  her  room,  and  turning  down 
the  lamp,  ran  downstairs. 

They  were  all  seated  at  the  long,  narrow  table  in  the 
dining-room  when  she  entered.  Pelham  saw  her  come  in 
and  rose  to  offer  her  his  chair. 

"Don't  move,  please,"  she  said,  pushing  another  up 
for  herself  beside  his.  "We  have  had  supper  before.  We 
only  want  to  wait  upon  you." 

Bernard  sat  opposite,  between  the  Colonel  and  Mrs 
Bristowe,  pouring  out  tea  for  them  into  great  half -pint  cups. 
The  driver  of  the  wagon  sat  down  at  the  end  of  the  table  and 
made  Lydia  suddenly  think  of  the  days  at  Anderson's  Farm 
when  she  used  to  sit  lonely  at  the  end  of  the  table,  far  from 
all  the  best  dishes,  and  she  determined  to  look  after  him. 
The  table  was  crowded  with  all  Bernard  had  been  able  to 
find  in  the  safes  and  cupboards,  and  there  was  never  any 
lack  of  food  at  the  ranch.  Great  bowls  of  milk,  large  as 
washing  basins,  stood  in  the  centre;  cold  fowl,  cold  ham, 
a  whole  one  cured  and  boiled  by  themselves,  cold  veal  and 
plates  of  rolls,  cakes  and  bread  in  abundance,  were  grouped 
round  them,  with  jars  of  jam  and  tins  of  jelly  bought  in 
Longridge  and  considered  a  luxury.  Two  big  lamps  and  the 
blazing  fire  which  Bernard  had  made  up  in  the  stove  lighted  the 
kitchen  and  the  table  from  end  to  end.  The  unfamiliar,  pleased 
faces  in  the  bright  light,  the  voices  and  laughter  mingling 
with  the  humming  of  the  great  kettle  on  the  stove,  all  formed 
a  general  harmony  which  fell  pleasingly  on  Lydia's  senses. 

"Well,  the  question  is,"  Mrs  Bristowe  was  saying,  "are 
there  any  deer  in  this  valley,  or  not?" 


188  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"It's  always  considered  a  good  place  for  hunting," 
answered  Bernard. 

Mrs  Bristowe  laughed. 

"You  remind  me  of  the  tale  of  the  stranger  who  came 
to  these  parts  and  was  informed  there  was  good  hunting  in 
the  neighbourhood. 

"  'Is  there?'  he  said,  very  pleased.  'What  sort  of  game 
is  there  ? ' 

"  '  Game  ?    Oh,  there  isn't  any  game,  just  plain  huntin'.' 

"Well,  we've  had  'plain  huntin'  for  a  month  now  and 
are  rather  tired  of  it." 

The  others  all  laughed,  and  Bernard  answered. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  You  go  out  to-morrow  and 
have  a  hunt  round  here,  and  if  you  don't  find  any  deer  we'll 
see  if  we  can't  take  you  up  to  the  Chain  and  find  some  there.'1 

"All  right:  that's  a  bargain.  What  time  shall  we  start 
to-morrow,  Eustace  ?  "  she  said,  looking  across  at  Pelham. 

It  struck  Lydia  disagreeably  the  use  of  the  Christian 
name,  and  she  looked  curiously  at  the  small,  pretty,  but 
hard  and  tired-looking  face  opposite  her. 

"As  early  as  possible,  if  you  want  to  get  anything,"  Pel- 
ham  answered. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'll  go  to-morrow,"  remarked 
Mrs  Bristowe,  suddenly.  "Suppose  you  and  Jack  go  with- 
out me,  and  I'll  stay  with  Mrs  Chetwynd  and  learn  some- 
thing about  ranching." 

She  glanced  at  Lydia  with  a  very  winning  and  pleasant 
look  and  Lydia  smiled. 

"Do,"  she  answered.  "I  shall  be  delighted.  I  am 
generally  alone  all  day." 

"And  if  you  don't  bring  back  a  whole  family  in  the 
evening,  buck,  doe  and  fawn,  we'll  go  up  to  the  Chain,  right 
away,  as  they  say  here.  Fill  up  my  cup,  Mr  Chetwynd. 
Thank  you." 

Pelham  ate  very  little,  but  the  others  seemed  to  try 
everything  on  the  table  and  enjoy  it  fully.  The  supper  was 
a  much  longer  meal  than  the  Chetwynds  generally  made  it 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  189 

and  Lydia  saw  poor  Bernard's  eyes  getting  sleepy  again  as  he 
listened  to  Mrs  Bristowe's  incessant  chatter. 

"We've  had  a  splendid  supper,"  she  remarked  finally, 
as  they  all  rose,  "so  different  from  the  camp  oatmeal.  Good- 
night, Mr  Chetwynd,  you've  been  most  good  to  the  wayfarers." 

Lydia,  with  one  of  the  lamps  in  her  hand,  preceded  the 
Colonel  and  his  wife  to  their  room.  The  fire  had  burnt  low 
and  a  rred  glow  lay  on  everything.  Mrs  Bristowe  pressed 
her  hand  warmly. 

"Good-night.  Thanks  immensely  for  all  you  have 
done  for  us,"  and  Lydia  left  them. 

She  went  into  Pelham's  room  and  crossed  to  the  fire,  to 
put  more  logs  on.  As  she  turned  from  the  hearth  she 
heard  his  step  ascending,  and  with  a  curious  interest  she 
stood  still  and  waited.  As  he  opened  the  door  the  flames 
leapt  up  to  receive  the  new  wood  and  the  whole  room  was 
filled  with  burnished,  dancing  light. 

"I  really  can't  bear  to  give  you  all  this  trouble,"  he  said, 
as  he  came  into  the  room.  The  tones  were  very  soft,  the 
voice  insinuating,  caressing,  and  it  struck  strangely  on  Lydia, 
who  was  accustomed  to  simple,  clear,  direct  speech  used 
only  as  a  means  of  conveyance  of  words.  She  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  it  as  it  is  used  by  certain  classes  of  men  and  women, 
as  a  vehicle  for  all  sorts  of  meanings,  emotions  and  passions. 
Some  men  and  women  kiss  with  their  voice  when  they  cannot 
with  their  lips,  and  can  stroke  softly  with  certain  tones  when 
they  dare  not  reach  out  their  hand.  Pelham  was  one  of 
these.  It  struck  Lydia,  rather  with  a  sense  of  displeasure, 
but  yet  it  forced  her  attention,  and  compelled  her  to  wish 
to  listen. 

"It  is  no  trouble,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
large  and  velvet  like  in  the  red  light,  and  a  rich  soft  bloom 
like  the  damask  rose  in  her  cheeks. 

Pelham,  standing  a  little  distance  from  the  hearth,  looked 
at  her  meditatively. 

"Have  I  ever  seen  you  before?"  he  asked  gently.  "It 
seems  to  me  I  have,  that  I  know  your  face." 


190  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Yes,"  answered  Lydia,  with  direct  simplicity,  "when  I 
was  seventeen,  coming  out  here  for  the  first  tune,  I  saw  you 
at  the  bookstall  of  Euston  railway  station." 

"Really?"  answered  Pelham.  "Was  it  there  that  I 
saw  you  ?  Do  you  remember  me  ?" 

"I  have  never  forgotten  you,"  Lydia  answered. 

She  did  not  herself  realise  the  tremendous  flattery  of 
the  admission  she  was  making,  nor  the  effect  it  would  have 
on  him.  She  was  simply  stating  fact  after  fact.  Pelham 's 
face  did  not  alter.  The  calm  gravity  of  the  expression 
remained  unchanged.  But  the  voice  when  he  spoke  again 
was  still  more  full  of  insidious  flattery.  It  seemed  to  Lydia 
almost  like  a  small  steel  blade  that  sank  into  her  flesh,  yet 
so  deftly  inserted  that  it  slid  between  muscles  and  veins 
and  made  no  pain  in  its  passage. 

"Why  did  you  notice  me  particularly  ?"  he  asked.  "What 
were  the  circumstances?  I  knew  I  had  seen  your  face 
before,  but  can't  even  now  recall  the  scene  where  it  was." 

"You  were  just  standing  by  the  bookstall  at  the  station 
and  looked  at  me  as  I  came  up  to  buy  a  paper.  Perhaps 
you  were  going  somewhere  by  train.  It  was  in  the  winter, 
six  years  ago.  As  to  remembering  you,  you  struck  me 
very  much  as  being  so  different  from  all  the  people  I  knew 
and  yet  as  belonging  to  a  life  in  which  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  been  born.  I  can't  quite  explain  myself,"  she  said, 
breaking  off,  and  with  a  flush,  as  she  realised  suddenly  she 
was  talking  what  must  seem  the  greatest  nonsense  to  this 
stranger. 

"I  think  you  explain  yourself  very  well,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"Six  years  ago — I  daresay  I  was  going  somewhere  on  a 
shoot — and  we  did  not  speak  to  each  other  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Lydia,  in  surprise.  "We  were  just  stand- 
ing together  for  a  moment  in  the  crowd,  that  was  all.  Well, 
I  must  not  stay  talking  to  you  and  keeping  you  up,"  she 
broke  off  hastily.  "  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  he  answered,  putting  out  his  hand.  She 
felt  compelled,  obliged  to  put  hers  into  it,  though  she  shrank 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  191 

from  the  sound  of  his  "Good-night."  It  was  too  much 
like  a  caress,  and  without  exactly  realising  why  she  wanted 
to  resent  it,  she  did  so  want,  but  yet  could  not.  He  held 
her  hand  in  his  in  a  quiet,  gentle  clasp. 

"Is  it  not  very  strange  that  Destiny  should  have  sent 
me  out  here  so  far  from  London  to  find  you  again?"  lie 
asked  softly.  She  looked  up  at  him,  conscious  of  an  immense 
sense  of  pleasure  filling  her  through  her  eyes,  as  they  took 
in  his  tall,  slight  figure,  his  distinguished  head  and  neck, 
the  grave  face  with  its  fine  features,  the  curious  interesting 
expression  of  power  and  experience  on  it  all. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  in  silence,  not  knowing  what 
to  answer,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"I  hope  you  will  have  everything  you  want,"  she  said  a 
little  stiffly.  "Good-night,"  and  she  went  out,  shutting  the 
door  quietly  after  her. 

The  passage  was  cold  and  perfectly  dark  outside,  but  a 
line  of  light  lay  under  her  husband's  door  opposite.  She 
crossed  to  it  and  entered  softly.  The  lamp  was  left  burning 
for  her,  but  Bernard,  as  she  anticipated,  had  gone  to  bed 
and  was  already  sound  asleep.  She  went  up  to  him  and 
looked  down  on  the  head  and  face  half  buried  in  the  pillow. 
It  was,  in  a  way,  as  handsome  as  the  one  she  had  just  been 
looking  up  at,  but  what  a  curious  difference  of  expression 
there  was.  In  Bernard's  face,  so  bright,  so  open,  so  candid, 
all  seemed  on  the  surface,  so  easily  to  be  read,  the  fine  char- 
acter, the  bright,  strong  intellect. 

On  this  other  all  seemed  obscure,  dark;  the  character  of 
the  man,  his  life,  his  actions,  his  motives,  his  feelings,  all 
seemed  packed  away  behind  those  deep,  tired  lines,  those 
calm,  level  eyebrows.  Lydia  turned  away,  shading  the 
light  from  Bernard's  face,  and  sat  down  by  the  table.  Her 
body  ached  all  over  with  fatigue,  but  her  brain  seemed  alight 
and  sleepless.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  like  a  fire,  and  the 
thoughts  leapt  and  sprang  about  in  it  just  as  the  little  flames 
play  over  the  coals  in  a  grate. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  afternoon  of  the  second  day  following  found  the  whole 
party,  except  Bernard,  slowly  winding  their  way  up  the 
scarped  side  of  the  mountain,  from  the  sheltered  valley  to 
the  Chain,  where  they  were  going  to  make  a  temporary  camp 
it  was  hoped,  in  the  heart  of  the  game  country.  Bernard 
had  been  coming  with  them,  but  at  the  last  moment  his 
work  had  claimed  him.  Some  of  the  cattle  had  broken 
loose  on  the  ranch  and  had  to  be  re-coralled,  and  he  had 
hurriedly  told  his  wife  to  go  up  with  their  guests  alone. 
The  last  day's  hunting  had  been  quite  unfruitful,  and  the  men 
had  returned  at  nightfall,  tired  and  cross  and  empty-handed, 
to  the  women  waiting  for  them.  Bernard  had  then  sug- 
gested the  expedition  to  the  Chain  or  rim — the  high  table- 
land that  lay  round  the  deep  valley,  or  basin,  like  the  edge 
of  a  bowl,  and  two  of  the  best  hunters  in  the  district  had 
been  requisitioned  from  another  ranch  to  conduct  the  party, 
as  it  was  easy  to  get  lost  in  the  wild  forests  of  the  rim.  These 
men,  the  Fultons,  were  hard,  thin,  why  men,  a  good  deal 
lower  in  the  scale  of  morality,  of  intelligence,  of  soul,  than 
the  beasts  they  hunted,  but  equally  with  them  swift  of  foot, 
cunning  and  fierce,  and  familiar  with  the  woods.  Lydia 
felt  a  curious  thrill  when  Bernard  refused  to  come;  usually 
she  would  go  nowhere  without  him,  but  now  a  sense  of 
elation,  of  freedom,  came  over  her  at  his  words. 

It  was  of  those  still,  grey,  overclouded  days  that  often 
come  hi  mid-winter,  the  air  was  moist  and  cool,  the  sky  heavy 
with  unshed  snow.  A  slight  powdering  of  it,  crisp,  ice- 
like,  lay  over  the  ground.  The  tall  trees  on  the  ascend- 
ing slopes  stood  motionless,  their  branches  unstirred  in  the 

192 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  193 

clear,  wet  air;  wood  and  field  and  copse  were  very  still. 
Nature  seemed  mute,  voiceless,  passive.  There  was  no 
movement  of  life  except  that  small  birds  flew,  with  joyful 
twitterings,  over  the  dank  fields,  and  flocks  of  quail  ran, 
calling  to  each  other,  between  the  rows  of  stubble.  Such 
a  day  has  a  curious,  solemn  beauty  of  its  own.  Slowly  the 
moving  string  of  human  beings  and  cattle  wound  up  towards 
the  Chain,  alone  the  narrow,  stony  path.  The  hillside 
was  very  steep,  covered  with  a  poor,  ragged  grass  and  loose 
stones  and  boulders;  great  fir  trees  grew  sparsely  over  it, 
and  small  saplings  struggled  up  everywhere  from  the  un- 
grateful soil.  The  whole  party  were  on  foot,  it  being  im- 
possible to  ride  up  when  your  mount's  back  became  a  verti- 
cal line,  and  the  lower  branches  of  the  fir  trees  scraped 
the  saddle  as  the  animal  desperately  scrambled  upwards, 
like  a  rat  on  a  rough  wall.  The  two  hunters,  with  their 
horses,  were  on  ahead  to  show  the  way;  the  driver,  leading 
a  packhorse  loaded  with  tents,  came  next;  the  Colonel  and 
his  wife  followed,  walking  up,  one  behind  the  other,  unen- 
cumbered, but  even  so,  finding  walking  not  at  all  easy  on 
the  narrow,  frozen  path  that  went  up  and  up,  endlessly, 
in  front  of  them,  like  the  wall  of  a  house.  Behind  them, 
sure-footed,  vigorous,  and  hot  with  exercise,  came  Lydia, 
leading  by  the  bridle  one  of  the  enormous  bay  horses  that 
usually  drew  the  wagon,  and  that,  for  the  occasion,  they  had 
converted  into  a  packhorse.  He  came  close  behind  her, 
putting  his  feet  docilely  into  the  very  steps  she  took  her 
own  from,  his  nose  sometimes  rubbing  on  her  shoulder,  his 
huge  pack  bulging  out  widely  on  either  side  of  him,  threaten- 
ing sometimes  to  overbalance  him  altogether,  as  it  swayed 
with  his  movements.  It  was  a  very  dangerous  thing  to  do, 
to  lead  the  large,  heavy,  inexperienced  beast,  so  heavily 
loaded,  up  the  stony,  frozen  trail  on  which  there  was  but 
just  room  for  one  human  being  to  stand,  the  mountain 
slope  running  steeply  down  for  hundreds  of  feet,  sheer  away 
from  the  edge  of  the  track,  and  Lydia  had  seen  the  danger 
directly  they  had  come  to  the  foot  of  the  final  ascent  which 
13 


194  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

would  bring  them  to  the  Chain.  The  hunters  of  the  valley, 
with  their  small,  tough,  wiry  ponies,  accustomed  to  climb 
like  mice,  eyed  the  two  large  high-standing  bays  with  dis- 
trust and  suspicion  as  a  halt  was  called  as  the  foot  of  the 
trail.  The  driver  could  lead  one  up;  more  was  impossi- 
ble. Pelham  had  been  assigned  two  recalcitrant  pack  jacks 
to  drive,  loaded  with  provisions.  Lydia  offered  to  lead 
the  big  bay. 

"You'll  have  to  take  awful  care,"  they  remarked  du- 
biously, "with  a  big  horse  and  that  tremendous  pack,  and 
he's  such  a  scary  beast  too." 

He  was  "scary,"  poor,  large,  wagon  horse,  accustomed 
as  he  was  to  be  guided  by  a  careful  drivei,  with  bit  and 
reins,  and  in  shafts,  over  wide,  smooth-rolling  roads.  The 
huge  swaying  pack  upon  his  back,  and  long,  alarming,  ill- 
balanced  tent  poles  bound  to  his  side,  frightened  him,  and 
the  hilly,  frozen,  rock-strewn  path,  up  which  he  saw  the 
others  beginning  to  crawl,  made  him  throw  up  his  head  and 
show  the  whites  in  his  great  startled  eyes. 

"I'll  lead  him,"  said  Lydia,  taking  the  bridle. 

All  her  warm,  loving  heart  and  sympathy  rushed  out  to 
the  poor,  frightened  brute,  and  full  of  this  great  emotional 
tide  of  pity  and  sympathy,  and  understanding  of  his  fears, 
she  put  her  warm  hand  on  his  neck.  She  never  thought 
of  herself  nor  of  the  danger  to  herself.  She  was  thinking  of 
him.  She  saw  the  other  hands  were  full,  and  if  not  very 
skilfully  led  and  managed  on  that  tiny  trail  he  would  slip 
and  roll  over  down  that  horrible  slope,  jagged  with  the  teeth 
of  broken  stumps  of  trees,  to  a  mangled  death  at  the  bot- 
tom. She  made  herself  responsible  for  him.  The  driver, 
who  owned  the  horses,  was  nervous  and  anxious,  and  looked 
round  appealingly  at  her  as  he  started  up  after  the  hunters. 
"He  is  mortal  scary,  but  he  do  seem  to  take  to  you,"  he 
said,  with  a  sort  of  wonder.  The  horse,  feeling  that  mar- 
vellous touch  electric  with  love  and  sympathy,  and  all  the 
passionate  force  of  her  will  to  get  him  through  his  difficulties, 
stood  quiet  and  charmed  into  confidence,  eyeing  meditatively 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  195 

with  his  soft  brown  liquid  orbs  the  slender  creature  at  his 
head.  Then,  full  of  implicit  trust,  as  she  turned,  drawing 
lightly  on  the  bridle,  he  willingly  followed  her  on  to  the  hate- 
ful, slippery,  deceitful  little  path  winding  up  amongst  the 
fir  trees.  Pelham  drove  his  two  tiresome,  wandering  jacks 
into  the  trail,  and,  bringing  up  the  rear  himself,  the  pro- 
cession was  all  fairly  started.  As  they  got  higher  up  and 
the  mountain  side  above  the  path  grew  steeper  and  steeper, 
offering  neither  foothold  nor  handhold,  and  the  mountain 
side  below  the  path  fell  more  steeply  away  into  dizzy  space, 
with  nothing  but  those  great  jagged,  gashed  stumps  to  catch 
the  body  if  it  fell,  as  the  path  became  more  full  of  ice,  and 
sometimes  a  stone  at  the  edge  broke  loose  beneath  her  feet, 
and  fell  with  sickening,  thudding  bounds  down,  down,  end- 
lessly, the  brave  blood  in  her  veins  seemed  all  to  gather  at 
her  heart  and  besiege  it.  The  horse's  hoofs,  heavy  and 
awkward,  came  stumbling  after  her;  he  crashed  through  the 
thin  crusts  of  ice  and  sent  the  little  freed  pebbles,  as  the  earth 
broke  loose,  rolling  merrily  into  space,  the  pack  swayed  and 
lurched;  Lydia  saw  that  if  she  slipped  and  fell  in  his  path 
he  must,  almost  inevitably,  trample  upon  her.  The  path 
had  grown  so  steep  and  rocky  in  places  that  she  had  to  take 
the  greatest  care  to  keep  enough  ahead  of  him,  to  leave  him 
room  to  make  his  cat-like  struggles  over  the  rocky  patches, 
without  trampling  upon  her  with  his  forefeet;  if  he  over- 
balanced he  would  drag  her  with  him  and  they  would  both 
roll  to  destruction.  Death's  face  looked  up  at  her  very  close 
from  that  slope  below  her,  yet  all  her  thought  was  for  the 
horse.  She  must  bring  him  safely  through,  poor  frightened 
beast,  that  so  willingly  followed  his  fools  of  masters,  wher- 
ever they,  in  their  obstinate  folly,  chose  to  go,  and  nearly 
breathless  as  she  was  by  the  long  ascent,  taken  so  quickly, 
to  keep  ahead  of  the  struggling  animal,  with  her  feet  con- 
stantly slipping  and  her  hand  cut  on  the  jagged  rocks  at  her 
side,  that  she  saved  herself  upon,  she  held  the  bridle  with 
even,  gentle  firmness,  and  cheered  him  by  her  voice,  pulling 
his  head  up  in  his  constant  stumbles,  and  soothing  his  fears. 


196  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

She  had  two  resolutions  fixed.  If  she  fell  on  or  over  the  edge 
she  was  going  to  set  the  bridle  free  so  that  her  charge  might 
remain  in  safety;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  slipped,  she 
would  hold  him  if  she  could,  or  roll  down  with  him  in  the 
attempt.  And  this  very  quixotism,  this  foolish  sentiment, 
was  that  which,  as  often  happens  in  life,  brought  them  both 
through  in  safety.  For  the  exquisite  love  and  sympathy 
that  flowed  from  her  into  the  nervous  beast,  and  the  accord 
between  them,  gave  her  a  control  and  power  over  him  she 
could  not  have  had  by  force  of  her  muscles  or  her  reason. 
Once,  for  a  moment,  both  their  lives  were  in  the  balance.  A 
jagged  old  tree  grew  near  to  the  trail,  a  gnarled  branch  bent 
down,  and,  as  the  horse  passed  it,  it  scored  along  the  canvas 
covering  of  the  pack  with  a  ripping  noise:  the  scary  horse 
started  violently  flinging  up  his  head,  and  Lydia,  turning  in- 
stantly, saw  the  pitiful  whites  of  the  large,  frightened  eyes. 
He  was  terrified  at  that  screech  along  his  back.  If  he  plunged 
ever  so  little,  over  they  must  go.  He  was  trying  to  back, 
pulling  at  the  bridle.  Lydia  saw  the  stony  mountain  breast 
above  them,  saw  the  dizzy,  swimming  space,  broken  only 
by  the  tooth-like  snags  beneath,  and  spoke  to  him,  softly, 
calmly,  but  that  screech  of  the  tree  was  in  his  ears,  it  had 
frightened  him,  he  couldn't  make  it  out,  he  pulled  at  the 
bridle,  he  plunged  with  his  hind  feet,  and  one  went  over  the 
edge,  thr — rill,  sang  all  the  little  stones  as  they  whirled  away 
down  the  slope,  Lydia  set  her  feet  in  the  path  and  drew  him 
strongly  forward  by  the  bridle.  She  was  white  and  her  body 
rigid.  He  was  trembling,  sweating.  She  called  him  gently, 
pulling  with  all  her  strength,  and,  with  a  sudden  terrific 
scramble,  he  drew  up  his  hind  leg  on  the  path  and  lunged 
forward,  his  impetus  almost  throwing  him  on  to  her.  The 
little  pack  jacks  had  come,  crowding  up  behind.  Pelham 
had  seen  it  all,  holding  his  breath,  and  the  others  from  the 
top  of  the  trail,  reached  at  last,  had  been  looking  on,  the 
hunters  with  a  dull,  stolid  admiration;  all  alike  powerless 
to  aid  or  help  the  two  on  the  ledge  where  there  was  but  room 
to  stand.  Lydia  turned  and  walked  on  up  to  the  end  of  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  197 

trail,  and  then,  when  the  last  stony  steps  had  been  taken,  and 
the  large  beast  with  his  great  staggering  pack  was  fairly  up 
in  safety,  beside  her,  on  the  flat  edge  of  the  table  forest  land, 
she  stood  with  her  breast  heaving  and  white  lips.  No  one 
took  any  outward  notice  of  what  was  really  a  great  feat. 
The  hunters  were  already  talking  over  the  different  routes 
and  possible  camping-places  in  the  forest.  The  Colonel  was 
seated,  panting,  on  a  log,  looking  at  her;  his  wife  stood 
pulling  on  her  fur  jacket  as  the  cold  breath  of  winter  came 
out  of  the  forest.  Lydia  did  not  think  of  any  of  them.  She 
turned  to  the  horse  and  kissed  it  on  its  damp  neck. 

"You  were  a  dear,  good  darling,  you  behaved  very  well 
on  the  whole,"  she  said,  softly  pressing  her  white  lips  against 
the  hot,  wet  coat. 

And  as  Pelham  watched  her  lean  forward,  her  breast 
swelling,  her  whole  figure  tense,  her  eyes  shining  with  ex- 
citement, and  press  that  kiss,  full  of  a  wealth  of  passionate 
emotion,  on  the  horse's  neck,  an  impulse  was  born  within 
him. 

Deep,  small,  silent  and  secret,  like  all  beginnings,  the 
seed  of  desire,  of  covetousness,  sank  into  him,  and  thus,  true 
to  the  usual  irony  of  life,  it  was  from  this  act  of  unselfish 
devotion  that  the  Upas  tree  which  was  to  overshadow  her  life 
took  its  roots. 

The  afternoon  was  advancing.  The  sky  hung  soft  and 
grey  and  heavy.  They  must  be  thinking  of  getting  into 
camp  soon.  The  hunters  had  already  gone  on,  and  their 
receding  footsteps  and  voices,  and  the  snapping  of  the  twigs 
in  the  loaded  pack  animals'  path,  was  all  there  was  to  guide 
the  rest:  men  and  animals  were  lost  to  view  directly  among 
the  closely-growing  firs.  The  driver  tramped  on  after  them, 
leading  his  horse  as  best  he  could  amongst  the  thickening 
branches  and  trunks,  the  two  little  pack  jacks  trotted  forward, 
methodically  now,  scenting  camp  ahead.  The  party  of  four 
were  left  together  to  follow  as  they  pleased.  They  started: 
they  were  all  hi  good  spirits  after  the  toil  up  the  hill  face,  and 
glad  to  have  level  walking  they  went  at  a  good  pace, 


198  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

laughing  and  talking,  their  voices  sounding  small  and  thin  in 
the  soft,  dead  air,  in  the  vast  spaces  and  great  solemn  silence 
of  the  forest.  Lydia  walked  rather  slower  than  the  others 
on  account  of  her  charge  that  she  still  had  and  refused  to 
give  up,  and  it  was  natural  that  in  a  little  while  the  Colonel 
and  his  wife  were  walking  some  yards  in  front,  and  Lydia, 
with  Pelham  at  her  side,  had  dropped  behind. 

"Is  not  this  splendid,  this  forest  up  here?  Have  you 
ever  seen  anything  finer  in  your  travels?"  Lydia  asked, 
pausing  for  a  moment  and  looking  round.  The  stately 
grandeur,  the  still  majesty  of  the  scene,  was  incomparable. 
They  stood  silent  in  the  quiet  freezing  air  and  looked  upon 
it,  while  the  crackling  of  their  companions'  steps  went  on 
farther  into  the  distance.  For  hundreds  of  miles  round  them 
stretched  this  great  plateau  of  forest  land,  most  of  it  virgin, 
untrodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  known  only  to  the  bears  and 
panthers,  cougars  and  wild  cats  that  laired  in  its  thick,  deep 
recesses,  and  the  herds  of  deer  that  fed  in  its  sheltered, 
grassy  little  parks.  Pressing  thick  upon  them  as  they  stood 
there,  towering  over  them,  rose  the  magnificent  red- wood  firs, 
lifting  their  wonderfully  symmetrical  bell-like  crown  of  green, 
a  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  sometimes  two  hundred  feet,  towards 
the  white,  snow-charged  sky:  their  great  girth  and  warm 
ruddy  stems  making  them  finer  than  any  porphyry  columns 
ever  hewn  by  man;  and  the  beauty  of  the  forest  lay,  not  in 
these  colossal  parent  trees  alone,  that  had  grown,  adding  to 
their  beauty  and  their  size,  year  by  year  for  thousands  of  years, 
but  in  the  generation  of  younger  trees  growing  up,  with  the 
fairy  grace  of  youth,  beneath  them.  Here  was  the  true  life 
of  the  forest,  a  marvel  of  wondrous  beauty,  of  order,  where 
Nature  ruled  alone,  uninterfered  with  by  man;  something 
sublime,  seldom  seen  by  men.  There  stood  the  graceful, 
vigorous  saplings,  the  tall  adolescents,  and  everywhere 
on  all  sides  rose  the  countless  millions  of  the  little  baby 
trees,  from  a  foot  to  two  feet  high,  and,  below  these  again, 
others  of  a  few  inches  only,  lifting  their  deep,  brilliant  green 
above  the  soft -stretched  carpet  of  sparkling  snow:  mile 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  199 

upon  mile  of  these  tiny  infants,  spreading  their  miniature 
branches  to  the  sun  and  the  dew,  under  their  superb  and 
lofty  parents;  Nature's  infinite  nurseries,  the  forests  of  the 
future.  They  stretched  away  far  as  vision  could  reach; 
unmarked  by  any  foot  track  lay  that  carpet,  except  here  and 
there  was  the  tiny  claw  print  of  a  bird.  Silent,  solemn, 
immaculate  was  everything  in  this  vast  temple  to  the  greatest 
divinity  of  all — Nature.  It  was  a  temple  unstained  with 
slaughter  of  sacrifice,  unprofaned  by  worship,  unviolated  by 
priests.  In  that  holy  silence,  over  that  pure  carpet,  under 
those  gigantic  firs,  gods  might  well  have  walked.  Now  and 
then,  silently,  obeying  the  almighty  law  of  endless  re- 
production, endless  provision  for  eternity,  fell  a  great 
cone,  swiftly  through  the  still,  white  air,  to  the  receptive 
earth. 

"No,  I  have  never  seen  anything  finer.  It  is  superb," 
Pelham  answered. 

"I  am  sorry  you  want  to  do  your  horrid  shooting  here," 
remarked  the  girl,  discontentedly.  "This  place,  this  forest, 
is  so  beautiful,  principally  because  man,  with  all  his  hateful 
ways,  is  absent.  Only  now  and  then  some  single  hunter 
comes  here  after  bear  or  cougar." 

"You  don't  like  the  shooting  then  ?" 

"No,  I  think  it  is  a  contemptible,  cowardly  thing  for  a 
man,  with  all  his  intellect  and  weapons,  to  spend  his  time 
hunting  down  small  defenceless  animals  that  can't  possibly 
hurt  him  nor  defend  themselves,  and  put  them  to  death  for 
his  amusement." 

The  girl  spoke  hotly,  all  her  heart  in  her  words.  She 
did  not  care  a  bit  whether  he  was  pleased  or  displeased,  in 
fact,  at  that  moment,  she  hated  him  as  the  exponent  of  the 
vice  she  hated,  and,  like  most  intellectual  people  accustomed 
to  think  for  themselves,  her  theories  and  opinions  were  a 
good  deal  dearer  to  her  than  persons  or  tangible  things. 
They  were  walking  rapidly  on  now,  her  eyes  still  fixed  on 
the  proud,  imposing  spectacle  round  them. 

Pelham  looked  amused. 


200  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"I  am  afraid  you  can't  like  me  much  then,"  he  answered 
"I've  spent  a  great  part  of  my  life  in  shooting." 

Lydia  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  The  deer- 
stalking hat,  with  its  rim  only  a  little  above  the  eyebrows, 
lent  to  the  face  the  same  look  it  had  worn  under  the  brim 
of  the  silk  hat  at  the  London  station,  and  a  curious  feeling 
of  suddenly  being  vanquished  swept  over  her. 

"Yes,  I  like  you  very  much,"  she  answered,  trying  to 
make  her  tone  quite  commonplace.  "I  only  feel  sorry  to 
think  you  should  have  spent  your  life  in  such  despicable, 
unworthy  occupation." 

Pelham,  brought  up  as  the  ordinary  English  gentleman, 
to  think  hunting  and  shooting  gentlemanly  sports,  was  a 
little  surprised  at  her  view.  He  had  been  accustomed  to 
hunt  with  women  who  loved  to  see  the  bleeding  brush  cut 
from  the  panting,  mangled  body  of  the  fox;  he  had  shot 
with  women  who  were  proud  when  their  rifles  blinded  and 
maimed  a  struggling  fawn.  He  had  liked  and  admired 
these.  Yet  now,  suddenly,  listening  to  her,  he  did  not  feel 
sure  that  the  warmer,  truer,  feminine  instinct  was  not  speak- 
ing to  him  now.  He  was  intellectual  enough  also,  enough 
versed  in  the  ways  of  life  to  be  able  to  hold  his  mind  open 
to  the  words  of  others,  to  be  able  to  see  things  from  points 
of  view  other  than  his  own.  They  walked  on  in  silence, 
the  little  tinkling  bells  on  the  jacks'  necks  in  front  coming 
back  to  them  with  a  small,  thin  sound.  A  delicious  fire 
of  joy  and  life  seemed  burning  in  Lydia's  veins  as  she  walked, 
with  her  head  lifted  to  the  wet,  pure  air,  that  clung  to  her 
cheeks  and  made  them  deepest  rose  colour.  Her  head  was 
bare;  in  that  uninhabited  country  there  was  no  need  to  follow 
a  senseless  fashion,  and  certainly  no  need  to  protect  her  head, 
already  crowned  by  those  soft  masses  of  shining  hair.  Her 
skirt  was  quite  short  and  of  a  rough,  thick  material,  and  her 
unimpeded  feet  carried  her  lightly  along.  She  walked  be- 
side Pelham  as  the  young  Bacchus  might  have  walked  over 
the  slopes  of  Parnassus.  She  felt  immensely  attracted  towards 
her  companion;  the  grace  of  his  figure,  the  grave,  well-cut 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  201 

lines  of  his  face,  the  quiet  voice,  all  appealed  to  that  instinc- 
tive sense  of  refinement  that  was  so  strong  in  her.  She  liked 
his  calm,  indulgent  way  of  listening  to  her,  not  contemptuous 
but  interested,  yet,  in  a  way,  unmoved :  she  liked  his  absence 
of  argumentative  answer:  his  great  repose  and  serenity  of 
manner.  He  was  so  much  older  than  she  was  that  she  did 
not  resent  the  feeling  she  had  of  his  superiority  to  herself. 
It  was  because  he  was  so  much  older,  he  had  seen  so  much  of 
life,  experienced  so  much,  thought  and  felt  so  much,  that  in 
heaps  of  ways  he  must  know  so  much  more  than  she  did, 
and  she  willingly  admitted  it.  There  was  a  sort  of  quiet 
force  about  his  manner  and  in  his  voice,  because  there  was 
a  character  of  force  behind  it.  And  there  was  no  effort  to 
impress  her,  no  attempt  to  pose,  which  would  have  been 
immediately  detected,  and  infinitely  despised  by  her.  Since 
she  was  keen-sighted  and  intelligent,  it  was  because  he  was 
obviously  not  thinking  of  himself,  nor  interested  in  himself, 
because  he  was  so  perfectly  natural,  so  simple,  that  there 
was  some  reality  of  greatness  in  him.  To  this  new,  wonderful 
sense  of  pleasure  in  her  companion  was  joined  the  exhilaration 
of  the  superb  beauty  round  them:  step  by  step  as  they  walked, 
new  vistas  opened  before  them,  and  round  them,  long,  lofty 
lines  of  blood-red  trunks,  crowned,  far  up  against  the  billowy 
sky,  with  their  masses  of  living  green,  and  silent,  snowy  path- 
ways leading  everywhere  between,  broken  only  by  the  little 
trees.  This  limitless  grandeur  of  vast  spaces,  this  pure, 
cold  beauty,  this  eternal  sacred  silence,  appealed  to  Lydia. 
How  far  away  the  valley  seemed  now  with  its  petty  human 
cares,  her  own  narrow,  daily  routine,  the  dusting  of  the  rooms, 
the  care  of  the  child,  the  cooking  of  the  dinner,  the  constant 
pressure  of  the  four  square  walls.  That  was  what  she  had 
been  enduring,  day  after  day,  while  all  this  glory  had  been 
awaiting  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  entered  into  another 
world,  and  Pelham  shared  in  the  effect  that  the  scene  had 
upon  her:  she  felt  that  he,  like  herself,  was  receptive  of  its 
influence,  struck  by  it,  deeply  affected  by  its  beauty,  and 
while  the  hunters  pressed  forward,  urging  on  the  pack  ani- 


202  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

mals,  only  thinking  where  they  could  best  camp  and  light 
the  camp  fires,  and  the  Colonel  and  his  wife  shivered  in  the 
unaccustomed  cold,  and  groaned  at  the  long  walk  they  had 
been  led  into,  she  and  Pelham  passed  through  the  immense 
silence,  touched  by  the  same  deep  fire  of  satisfaction  in  the 
beauty  of  the  world.  As  they  walked  on  farther  the  trees 
gave  way  for  a  space,  and  they  stepped  out  into  a 
long,  rather  narrow  depression  in  the  ground,  where 
the  grass  grew  strong  and  ragged  and  the  soil  became 
tussocky. 

"I  should  think  this  is  an  old  lake  bed,"  Pelham  said, 
as  they  entered  the  clear  space.  "I  suppose  the  Fultons 
are  following  it  up,  looking  for  water." 

"Yes,  they're  hunting  the  water,"  Lydia  answered, 
mechanically.  She  was  looking  up;  all  round  stood  the 
forest,  black  in  gloomy  magnificence;  overhead  the  white, 
billowy,  snow-charged  sky  rolled  like  a  vast  trackless  sea, 
the  light  was  failing,  but  in  the  open  here  it  was  still  clear. 
The  tracks  of  the  party  in  front  were  not  visible  on  the  grassy 
tussocks,  the  snowy  carpet  had  ceased  with  the  trees.  For 
a  moment  there  was  no  sound  of  the  footsteps  nor  the  bells. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  were  alone  <• 

"Come,"  she  said  suddenly,  realising  this.  "We  must 
not  lose  them:  it  would  be  easy  to  wander  about  here  and 
be  quite  lost.  The  same  country  goes  on  for  hundreds  of 
miles  in  all  directions." 

"I  think  I  could  take  care  of  you." 

She  looked  at  him  suddenly.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
words  and  the  tone  was  very  quiet:  as  she  looked  at  him 
his  face  was  very  grave  and  calm,  and  the  eyes  were  serene 
as  they  fixed  upon  her.  There  were  none  of  the  usual 
minauderies  of  ordinary  love-making  visible:  yet  Lydia 
felt  the  colour  ebb  from  her  face,  leaving  it  quite  white  to 
the  lips  with  a  strange  excitement,  her  heart  seemed  to  rise 
suddenly,  as  if  a  hand  pushed  it  underneath. 

Pelham  looked  at  her,  smiling  a  little. 

"If  we  were  lost  together,  up  here,  would  you  very  much 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  203 

mind  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  tone  that  might  be  used  for  any  society 
commonplace. 

Still  Lydia  said  nothing:  she  was  lost  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  face,  that  attracted  her  so  much,  not  only  be- 
cause it  was  particularly  handsome  according  to  the  received 
rule,  but  because  it  represented  to  her  so  much  that  was  a 
sealed  mystery  to  her,  and  yet  that  she  vaguely  longed  to 
know  and  have  a  share  in :  she  knew  that  it  represented  life, 
and  the  passions  and  experiences  of  life  that  was  not  of  the 
same  simple  bucolic  kind  that  her  own  was.  Pelham,  gazing 
back  at  her,  was  strongly  attracted  too  by  the  fresh,  hand- 
some face,  the  youthful,  innocent  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  For 
years  no  woman  had  interested  him,  appealed  to  him,  as  she 
did.  That  pretty  face,  with  all  the  wealth  of  her  warm, 
passionate  nature  shining  in  it,  and  lifted  to  his,  with  that 
admiring  wonder,  as  if  he  possessed  the  wisdom  of  all  the 
ages,  woke  up  curious,  half-forgotten  fires  within  him.  He 
was  in  a  state  then  when  the  mind  is  receptive,  glad  to  wel- 
come new  impressions,  to  fill  up  the  emptiness  expired 
emotions  leave  behind  them.  His  relations  with  Kate  Bris- 
towe  were  at  an  end :  the  termination  brought  him  no  regret, 
only  relief:  yet  there  was  in  the  relief  that  inevitable 
blankness  that  follows  the  death  of  the  least-desired  passion. 
The  liaison  begun  coldly  on  both  sides,  and  yielded  to  on  his 
because  the  woman  attracted  him  and  because  she  insisted 
on  it,  had  left  him  harder  than  he  was  before,  with  even  less 
belief  in  unselfish  love,  devotion,  constancy,  honour,  or  any 
of  those — as  he  had  always  regarded  them — theoretical  virtues. 
The  complete  selfishness,  the  cynicism,  the  brutality  of  her 
whole  nature  in  its  absolute  never-wavering  self-worship,  in 
its  entire  indifference  to  everything  except  the  gratification 
of  its  own  wishes,  had  succeeded  at  last  in  raising  a  loath- 
ing and  disgust  for  her,  their  connection,  and  the  very 
memory  of  it,  from  which  the  mind  turned  to  fasten  with 
special  delight  on  something  that  promised  to  be  entirely 
different. 

"Would  you  be  afraid  to  be  lost  with  me  ?"  he  said  again, 


204  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

and  this  time  his  tone  was  softer,  more  tender  and  affectionate. 
Involuntarily  they  both  slackened  their  footsteps,  then  came 
to  a  pause,  looking  at  each  other. 

She  felt  a  great  delight  born  suddenly  in  her.  Lost 
with  him  ?  No,  she  knew  she  would  not  care,  would  feel  no 
fear,  no  sense  of  danger,  only  excitement,  joy  at  an  adventure 
shared  with  him.  Something  of  this  he  read  in  her  great 
star-like  eyes  fixed  on  him,  but  before  he  could  speak  again 
she  had  turned  from  him  in  silence  and  pressed  on  her  steps. 

"I  think  I  see  the  light  of  the  camp,"  she  said,  hurrying 
on,  and  he  followed  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  old  lake  stood  a  group  of  red-wood  firs, 
seven,  standing  together,  forming  something  of  a  semi-circle, 
and  here  the  hunters  had  made  their  camp:  a  dry  log,  the 
whole  tree,  many  feet  in  length,  on  the  ground,  served  them 
for  their  fire:  they  had  kindled  it  in  the  centre  and  great 
sheets  of  flame  went  up  from  it,  throwing  a  warm,  ruddy 
light  all  round,  lighting  up  the  men's  figures  as  they  went 
to  and  fro,  and  the  small  white  tent  pitched  a  little  way  off 
against  another  clump  of  trees.  The  Colonel  and  the  driver 
were  busy  pegging  it  down,  while  Mrs  Bristowe  lay  at  full 
length  on  a  sheepskin  spread  in  front  of  a  smaller  and  more 
moderately  burning  fire.  Overhead  now  there  was  darkness, 
into  which  the  tall  trees  rose  up  and  up  till  they  were  lost  in 
it,  except  where  the  flare  of  the  Fultons'  fire  lighted  up  all 
the  underneath  of  their  lofty  crowns,  and  one  saw,  far  above, 
spreading  over  one,  their  protecting  roof,  a  beautiful  network 
of  far-spreading  ruddy  boughs  like  rafters,  and  on  the  shorter 
trees  near  by  the  clear  red  light  fell  and  glowed,  as  if  the  rich, 
deep,  velvet  green  of  their  foliage  were  splashed  with  wine. 
In  the  darkness  that  stood  round  the  camp  like  a  wall, 
stretched  protectively,  silent  and  mighty,  the  sombre  forest. 
The  Fultons  disdained  all  camp  and  camp  outfit;  they  had 
flung  down  some  sheepskins  at  the  foot  of  the  trees,  where 
later  they  would  sleep,  their  dogs  beside  them,  the  fire  at  their 
feet.  They  were  getting  their  supper  now :  one  was  swinging 
the  kettle  over  their  giants'  fire,  the  other,  on  his  knees,  was 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  205 

cleaning  out  the  frying-pan,  while  the  dogs,  huddled  on  the 
sheepskins,  watched  them  eagerly. 

Lydia  came  into  the  circle  of  the  fierce  red  light  with 
Pelham  beside  her,  feeling  all  her  blood  dancing  with  joy 
and  animation:  there  was  no  sense  of  guilt  yet  to  throw  its 
shadow  on  her:  she  felt  simply  delight  in  Pelham 's  admira- 
tion and  companionship,  without  having  had  time  to  analyse 
the  feelings  or  fear  or  suspect  them.  Kate  looked  up  as 
they  approached  and  her  face  gathered  a  mocking  expression 
as  she  glanced  from  one  to  the  other. 

"The  temperature  has  got  considerably  warmer,"  she 
remarked. 

"Nonsense,  Kate,"  said  the  Colonel,  who  was  just  coming 
up  to  the  fire  with  a  newly-filled  kettle,  "it's  been  getting 
colder  every  minute ;  it  can't  do  anything  else  at  this  time  in 
the  evening,  when  one  is  three  thousand  feet  up." 

Kate  rolled  over  on  her  side  on  the  sheepskin  and  laughed 
mockingly.  Lydia  stooped  over  the  fire  to  arrange  the  logs 
so  that  the  "Colonel  could  balance  the  kettle,  and  heard  Pelham 
answer  coldly, — 

"Mrs  Bristowe  is  not  accustomed  to  high  altitudes,  and 
does  not  understand  them." 

Lydia  had  understood  at  once  the  double  meaning  to 
both  remarks,  though  the  Colonel,  apparently,  had  not, 
and  she  glanced  at  Kate,  who  was  supporting  her  head  on 
her  hand  and  leaning  on  one  elbow  gazing  into  the  fire,  to 
see  if  she  could  resent,  in  any  way,  Pelham 's  speech,  but 
she  said  nothing,  only  followed  him  about  with  a  derisive 
gaze  on  her  hard,  clever  face. 

"  Why  do  you  fuss  and  bother  so  much  about  the  supper  ?  " 
she  asked  lazily.  "Let's  do  without  supper.  I  don't  want 
any." 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  Pelham,  as  he  and  Lydia  dragged 
forward  the  provision  box  and  began  to  open  it,  "but  others, 
who  have  worked  harder  than  you  have,  do,  you  see." 

"It's  always  stupid  to  work  hard,"  remarked  Mrs  Bris- 
towe, kicking  at  a  projecting  log  and  watching  Pelham  and 


206  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Lydia  and  the  Colonel  all  labouring  over  the  box,  which  had 
been  nailed  down  to  secure  the  contents  travelling  safely,  and 
now  refused  to  be  opened  altogether.  By  their  combined 
efforts  it  was  forced  at  last  and  the  supper  laid  on  the  top. 
Lydia  volunteered  to  make  the  tea  and  coffee,  and  when  great 
steaming  cans  of  this  were  ready,  and  the  whole  meal  pre- 
pared and  laid  out,  Kate  discovered  she  was  hungry  and 
thirsty  after  all,  and  briskly  took  her  place  at  the  box  table. 
From  where  they  sat  grouped  round  it,  in  the  merry  circle 
of  their  own  firelight,  they  could  see  the  hunters'  rough-and- 
ready  camp  a  few  yards  from  them,  the  whole  picture  stand- 
ing out  against  the  soft  blackness  like  a  Rembrandt.  The 
log  had  burned  down  somewhat  now  into  a  mass  of  crimson 
and  scarlet  coals,  and  a  steady,  blood-red  glare  was  thrown 
upon  the  face  of  the  darkness.  In  it  were  bathed  the  men's 
outstretched  figures,  their  pale,  grim  faces  and  grey  hats; 
behind,  the  white  curls  of  the  sheepskin  rugs,  with  the  dogs 
asleep  on  them,  were  turned  into  pale  rose  colour;  beyond, 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  deep  firelight,  stood  grouped  together 
the  small,  grey  pack  asses,  pulling  at  a  heap  of  fodder,  and  the 
horses  tethered  to  a  pine  a  little  farther  back,  in  deep  brown 
shadows,  caught  a  glint  of  red  on  their  sides  now  and  then 
as  they  moved.  Far  up  over  all  rose  the  red-trunked  trees, 
straight  from  the  golden,  glowing  core  of  fire  at  their  feet, 
flinging  back  the  red  flare  from  their  ruddy,  interlacing, 
rafter-like  boughs  spread  like  a  roof  above  the  camp. 

"The  fire  wants  attending  to  and  more  wood  put  on," 
remarked  Mrs  Bristowe,  who  was  lying  nearest  the  pile  of 
cut  logs  for  the  fire,  where  she  had  thrown  herself  after  supper. 

"Well,  suppose  you  attend  to  it,"  answered  Pelham, 
without  moving. 

"Pas  si  bete,"  laughed  Mrs  Bristowe,  rolling  round  on 
her  rug,  "I'm  much  too  comfortable  to  get  up,  and  I  know 
if  I  don't  keep  the  fire  in  someone  else  will.  Look  at  the 
moon!"  she  added  suddenly.  "Diana  isn't  looking  as  chaste 
as  she  might  to-night." 

They  all  lifted  their  eyes.     Far,  far  up,  far  over  their 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  207 

own  roof  of  protecting  trees,  there  seemed  a  black  cavern 
torn  open  in  the  heart  of  the  dome  above  them,  in  the  centre 
of  the  great  white  sky.  Masses  of  snowy-crested  clouds  were 
driving  furiously  by  the  ragged  edges  of  the  cavern,  and  in  its 
centre  swung  the  full  moon.  Over  its  silver  face  was  spread- 
ing slowly,  from  one  side,  a  stain  of  dusky  lurid  red,  and 
slowly  the  light  that  had  filled  the  sky,  though  obscured  by 
the  massed  clouds,  faded  and  dwindled.  Nature's  hand 
was  extinguishing  her  lamp.  Silently  the  small  scircle  of 
humanity  round  their  dying  camp  fire  watched  it.  Slowly 
and  relentlessly  the  great  light  was  being  put  out.  A  feeling 
of  awe  swept  over  them  as  they  watched  that  small  red  stain 
creep  forward,  a  stain  as  of  discoloured  blood  oozing  slowly 
from  a  wound.  From  the  depths  of  the  forest,  distant  and 
far-reaching,  came  the  wild  howl  of  a  panther,  full  of  an  in- 
stinctive and  inarticulate  dread. 

"What  is  it,  is  it  an  eclipse?"  asked  Mrs  Bristowe,  in  a 
whisper. 

"It  isn't  a  bit  like  an  ordinary  eclipse,"  answered  Lydia 
from  where  she  sat  on  the  other  side  of  Pelham.  He  wished 
that,  under  influence  of  that  awestruck,  uncanny  feeling  that 
oppressed  them  all  under  this  red  moon,  she  would  have 
come  nearer  to  him,  and  sat  close  for  protection  and  com- 
panionship, but  she  did  not.  She  remained,  not  very  near 
him,  with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees. 

"In  an  ordinary  eclipse  it  looks  as  if  the  darkness  had 
bitten  a  little  piece  out  of  the  moon,  and  the  black  bite  gets 
larger  and  larger  until  the  whole  moon  is  swallowed  up. 
This  is  quite  different,  it  is  like  a  red  stain  spreading  on  the 
surface." 

She  spoke  softly,  gazing  up  at  it.  Pelham  saw  she  was 
deeply  impressed  by  the  curious  phenomenon,  and  moved 
by  it.  He  watched  her  face  beside  him,  thinking  how  pretty 
it  looked  with  the  clear  glow  from  the  fire  falling  on  the  white 
throat,  and  underneath  of  the  full  round  chin,  and  what  a 
sweet  little  mouth  she  had,  with  its  soft  curling  lips  like  the 
turned-back  petals  of  the  pomegranate  flower  when  it  first 


208  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

opens.  Out  of  the  depths  of  the  forest  came  another  long, 
weird  cry,  answering  the  panther's. 

Mrs  Bristowe  sat  up  and  shivered. 

"Jack,"  she  said  imperatively,  "put  some  more  logs  on. 
This  is  horrible."  ' 

Bristowe  got  up  obediently  and  threw  two  or  three  great 
round  grey  cedar  logs  onto  the  glowing  coals,  flames  leapt 
up  to  receive  them,  and  a  scent  like  the  scent  of  incense  spread 
all  through  the  air  from  the  kindling  cedar.  Looking  across 
to  the  other  camp  they  saw  the  Fultons  were  also  sitting  up, 
scanning  the  moon,  like  themselves.  The  dogs  were  all  on 
their  haunches,  snuffing  the  air,  with  lowered  ears,  shivering 
and  moaning. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  bed,"  remarked  Mrs  Bristowe. 
"If  you  people  will  sit  up  all  night  moon-gazing,  I  can't 
help  it,  but  at  least  I'll  set  you  a  good  example." 

"My  dear  Kate,  we  oughtn't  to  leave  all  the  work 
to  Mrs  Chetwynd;  we'd  better  help  them  clear  up  before 
you  go." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Mrs  Bristowe,  "it  will  be  a  labour 
of  love  for  Pelham  and  Mrs  Chetwynd  to  do  it,  I  know,  and 
I  specially  dislike  washing  dishes.  Good-night." 

"I  don't  mind  clearing  up,  Colonel,  thank  you,"  mur- 
mured Lydia,  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  moon,  and  Mrs 
Bristowe,  without  waiting  for  anyone,  gathered  up  her  wraps 
and  walked  towards  the  tent,  followed  slowly  by  the  Colonel, 
who  was  beginning  to  feel  stiff  in  every  joint. 

Pelham  and  Lydia  were  left  together  by  the  fire. 

The  red  stain  had  now  crept,  with  an  irregular  outline, 
half  across  the  moon,  the  other  side  was  still  white,  though 
the  discolouration  seemed  faintly  affecting  it,  too,  as  blood 
dropped  into  water  forms  a  red  core,  and  also,  almost  im- 
perceptibly, discolours  the  whole. 

Pelham  drew  up  close  beside  the  gill,  and  there  was 
silence  between  them  as  they  both  watched  the  gradual  de- 
filement of  the  pure  silver  light  above.  When  it  was  nearly 
complete  Lydia  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet  with  a  sigh.  The 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  209 

instinct  of  one  who  habitually  works,  and  usually  for 
others  and  to  the  crossing  of  her  own  desires,  was  awake 
in  her. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Pelham,  rising  too. 

"I  was  going  to  wash  up  all  the  things  and  leave  every- 
thing ready  for  the  morning,"  she  answered,  going  over 
to  the  fire  and  lifting  the  kettle.  "There's  hardly  any- 
thing in  the  kettle.  Do  you  know  if  there's  any  water  in 
the  camp  ?" 

"No,  there's  none  left,  I  think;  we'd  better  send  Jackson 
to  the  creek  for  some  more." 

"Can't  we  get  it  ourselves?"  Lydia  asked.  "I  don't  like 
waking  him  up,  he  has  just  lain  down  and  gone  off  to  sleep. 
He's  had  a  hard  day  on  the  whole." 

Pelham  glanced  to  the  side  of  the  tent,  where,  on  the  old 
wagon  sheet,  their  driver  lay  peacefully  asleep. 

"Yes,  I  expect  we  can  find  it,"  Pelham  answered,  picking 
up  his  gun;  "give  me  the  kettle." 

"I  would  rather  you  carry  the  gun  and  be  ready  to  shoot 
anything  that  may  attack  us,  though  it's  not  likely  anything 
will,"  she  said.  "I  am  quite  accustomed  to  carry  a  kettle  as 
heavy  as  this." 

They  went  forward  between  the  trees;  the  light  was 
almost  gone  now;  behind  them  blazed  the  warm  red  fire 
of  their  camp,  shooting  out  long  golden  gleams  along  the 
snow  before  them,  as  they  walked  towards  the  creek. 

"Perhaps  we  shall  meet  a  panther  there,"  said  Lydia, 
laughing. 

The  stream  rushed  by,  black  and  sullen  beneath  the 
arches  of  ice  that  spanned  it  here  and  there  from  stone  to 
stone;  the  ghastly  expiring  light  from  the  dying  moon  just 
glimmered  on  it  and  showed  the  snowy  banks. 

"Let  me  fill  it,"  said  Pelham. 

"No,  stop  on  the  bank,  and  have  your  gun  ready.  I 
can  fill  it.  I  am  accustomed  to  it." 

She  descended  the  bank,  and  stooping,  held  the  kettle 
down  hi  the  stream,  so  that  the  water  rushed  into  it.  When 
34 


210  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

it  was  quite  full  she  swung  it  up  and  turned  to  ascend  the 
bank.  The  weight  of  the  kettle  in  one  hand  disturbed  her 
balance;  just  near  the  edge  of  the  bank  her  foot  slid  back 
on  the  melted  snow,  and,  with  a  little  cry,  she  seized  Pel- 
ham's  hand  instantly  outstretched,  and  was  drawn  on  to 
the  level.  The  little  cry,  the  appealing,  clinging  hold  of  her 
soft  hand  on  his,  was  as  a  torch  to  the  magazine.  A  sudden 
fierce  desire  broke  down  the  door  of  his  self-control  and 
invaded  his  whole  being.  As  Lydia  set  the  kettle  on  the 
ground  and  paused  for  a  moment  to  recover  her  breath, 
she  felt  his  arms  suddenly  round  her,  and  herself  drawn  up 
tightly  against  his  breast.  The  pressure  was  so  tight,  the 
clasp  so  strong,  that  she  could  not  even  struggle  in  it,  she 
could  not  move,  but  that  which  came  back  to  her  afterwards 
in  such  a  fury  of  anger  against  herself  was,  that  she  did  not 
even  wish  to.  The  power  to  resist,  to  escape,  was  not  there, 
but,  equally,  the  will  was  absent.  To  her  own  dull  horror  and 
stupefied  surprise  she  knew  that  she  was  glad  to  be  held, 
numb,  nerveless,  resistless,  against  him.  An  extraordinary 
feeling  of  pleasure  swept  through  her  body  at  the  touch  of 
his  arms,  and  when  she  felt  his  heart-beats  against  her  breast 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  all  the  pulses  and  fibres  of  her  body 
had  been  waiting  for  something  that  was  suddenly  given 
them;  an  indefinable  sense  of  peace,  of  well-being,  flowed 
over  her.  And  from  these  was  born  a  passivity  she  could 
not  help.  The  touch  of  his  arms  and  lips  compelled  her  to 
be  passive,  to  accept  them.  In  that  moment  all  her  mental 
powers,  her  moral  strength  and  instincts,  seemed  gagged, 
bound  and  thrown  down.  There  was  a  sudden  revolt 
against  them  of  all  the  physical  instincts  which  swept  the 
mind  aside  and  usurped  her.  Mentally  she  feared  and 
distrusted  Pelham,  morally  she  recoiled  from  the  character 
and  the  kind  of  morality  she  divined  in  him;  but  with  this 
distrust  the  physical  instincts  had  nothing  to  do.  They 
leapt  up  to  meet  the  embrace,  in  which  they  found  a  superb 
satisfaction,  and  they  held  her  passive,  powerless  to  struggle 
away  from  him. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  211 

Leaning  her  head  back  against  his  shoulder,  where 
indeed  it  was  forced  irresistibly,  her  eyes  glanced  upward 
for  a  moment,  between  his  kisses,  to  the  wild  sky,  rolling 
its  great  cold  billows  above  their  heads,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  that  her  life  was  like  a  kaleidoscope  some  unseen  hand 
was  holding  to  her  eyes.  She  had  been  looking  down  it 
yesterday  and  many  yesterdays  before  that,  and  had  always 
seen  the  same  pattern  at  the  end,  but  now  the  hand  had 
turned  it  suddenly,  and  there  was  another  pattern,  another 
device,  another  colour,  at  the  end.  The  pattern  was  changed, 
the  turn  had  been  given.  She  knew  in  that  moment  she 
could  never  turn  it  back.  The  sensation  was  gone  by, 
passed  over  in  a  flash.  With  a  sudden  wrench  she  disengaged 
herself,  picked  up  the  kettle  from  the  ground  and  walked 
towards  the  camp.  Pelham  lifted  his  gun  and  followed. 
Lydia  went  through  her  work  and  washed  all  the  plates  and 
dishes,  Pelham  helping  her  quietly,  dexterously,  without 
speaking,  and  both  were  as  calm  outwardly  as  before.  Only 
Lydia 's  eyes  had  a  curious  fire  beneath  their  lids,  and  her 
nostrils  dilated  and  quivered  nervously  when  she  felt  Pel- 
ham's  eyes  upon  her.  When  all  the  work  was  done  she 
withdrew  with  a  cold  "Good-night,"  and  walked  to  their 
common  tent.  It  was  fairly  large,  and  it  had  been  arranged 
the  two  men  should  sleep  together  on  one  side,  and  the  two 
ladies  on  the  other.  When  Lydia  parted  the  flap  of  the 
canvas  now,  and  entered,  the  swinging  lamp  from  the  centre 
pole  was  smoking  and  burning  dim;  in  the  thick  and  acrid 
atmosphere  she  saw  the  two  beds,  the  Colonel  lying  at  the 
extreme  inner  edge  of  his  and  fast  asleep,  leaving  a  wide 
space  for  Pelham;  on  the  other  lay  his  wife,  carefully  rolled 
round  in  all  the  blankets,  and  well  in  the  centre;  an  earthen- 
ware basin  of  charcoal,  glowing  brightly,  burned  between 
the  beds.  Lydia  smiled,  and  stretched  herself  noiselessly 
by  the  side  of  the  sleeping  woman.  She  was  so  hardy  she 
needed  no  covering  beyond  her  own  warm  clothing,  and, 
when  the  charcoal  had  gone  out,  she  reflected  it  would  be 
time  to  get  up. 


£1«  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

She  wondered,  in  a  wild  fever  of  pain,  whether  Pelham 
would  come  in  to  take  his  place  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 
She  thought  not.  She  lay,  with  closed  eyes,  listening,  but 
there  was  no  sound  except,  far  awa'y,  the  faint  cries  of  the 
wild  beasts,  carrying  out  their  lawless  loves,  in  the  dying 
moonlight. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

THE  following  morning,  earlier  than  all  the  others,  Lydia 
slipped  out  of  the  tent  and  stood  still  to  look  round  on  the 
matchless  glory  of  Nature  undefiled.  The  snow  had  fallen 
in  the  night,  as  the  hunters  had  feared  and  prophesied,  and 
now  there  was  a  great  white  stillness  everywhere,  a  radiant, 
sparkling  silence,  a  wonderful  beauty,  without  sound.  The 
dawn  had  already  broken  but  its  majesty  still  filled  the  sky; 
the  whole  dome,  from  east  to  west,  was  alight  and  flamed  in 
golden  silence  above  the  silent  earth. 

She  had  slept  very  little  through  the  night.  Those 
kisses  of  Pelham's  had  burned  upon  her  lips,  and  the  vision 
of  that  face  bent  over  her  scorched  her  eyes  all  through  the 
dark  hours.  She  felt  extraordinarily  elated,  proud  of,  and 
glad  in,  her  own  beauty.  This  man,  that  had  seemed,  on 
her  first  meeting  with  him,  a  being  so  interesting,  yet  so 
far  removed,  so  far  out  of  her  reach,  so  quiet,  grave,  so  in- 
accessible, was  stirred  by  her  beauty,  her  personality,  from 
all  his  coldness,  all  his  reserve.  They  had  been  very  near; 
last  night,  in  the  dying  light,  she  had  seen  those  cold  pale 
features  close  above  hers,  the  inscrutable  eyes  had  been  full 
of  fire.  An  exultation  filled  her  that  she  could  not  repress, 
and  yet,  following  it  instantly,  came  the  icy  tide  of  recollection. 
What  good  was  it  to  have  the  power  to  rouse  this  man,  or  any 
man?  She  was  married,  tied  to  one  all  her  life  long.  She 
could  not  do  anything  to  hurt  Bernard.  She  loved  him. 
Yet,  as  she  stood  there,  looking  up  to  the  white  light  in  the 
morning  sky,  that  wave  of  exultation  rose  in  her,  higher  and 
higher,  and  would  not  be  repressed.  This  man,  this  per- 
sonality, drew  her  to  him,  attracted  her  as  powerfully  as 

213 


214  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

the  steel  is  drawn  over  painful  spaces  to  join  the  magnet. 
What  was  it  ?  What  was  wrong  ?  Why,  when  she  loved 
Bernard  so  much,  should  she  feel  this  for  another  man  ?  No 
one  man  is  enough  for  a  woman,  as  no  one  woman  is  enough 
fora  man.  Nature  has  not  ordained  that  it  should  be  so.  And 
it  is  curious  that  man,  hampered  by  his  mind,  should  have 
set  up  this  fetich  of  fidelity,  and  that  now,  false  idol  as  it  is, 
neither  man  nor  woman  can  be  happy  in  their  relations  with 
each  other  without  it.  For  a  few  desperate  moments  Lydia 
regretted,  wildly,  that  she  was  not  free. 

"Why  should  one  marry  at  all?"  she  thought  suddenly, 
"since  one  cannot  marry  them  all." 

A  woman  cannot  marry  in  succession,  still  less  at  the 
same  time,  all  the  men  that  please  and  enchant  her;  she 
must,  unlike  the  wiser  animals,  choose  one  alone.  It  is  the 
old  story  of  man  coveting  the  Whole  of  Life  though  each  one 
can  but  get  a  portion. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  said  Pelham's  soft  voice 
beside  her.  She  brought  her  eyes  down  from  the  sky,  and 
the  colour  flamed  all  over  her  face. 

"I  am  thinking  of  the  desperateness  of  Life,"  she  an- 
swered calmly.  She  glanced  round.  They  were  alone 
where  they  stood.  A  little  way  off,  the  hunters  were  making 
their  fire  and  preparing  their  breakfast.  "It  was  so  horrid 
and  disgusting  of  me  to  kiss  you  last  night,  by  the  brook. 
So  mean  and  treacherous,  and  dishonourable  to  Bernard," 
she  went  on  angrily,  pale  and  scarlet  by  turns. 

Pelham  looked  amused. 

"All  the  same  you  will  kiss  me  many  more  tunes,"  he 
said  quietly,  his  calm,  unmoved  face  looking  particularly 
refined  and  distinguished  in  contrast  with  his  rough  clothes 
and  the  rugged,  weather-seamed  features  of  the  hunters, 
and  as  she  stared  at  him,  white  and  speechless  with  amaze- 
ment, he  turned  away  towards  the  smouldering  hearth. 

"We'd  better  get  some  breakfast  for  those  idle  people," 
he  said,  "and  be  breaking  up  camp.  The  hunters  say  we 
can't  stay  here;  it's  too  dangerous  on  account  of  the  snow. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  215 

If  it  fell,  as  it  might,  to  a  depth  of  ten  or  twelve  feet,  we 
should  be  snowed  up  and  all  starved  to  death,  so,  game  or 
no  game,  they  say  we  must  go  down." 

He  went  towards  the  brook,  with  the  kettle  in  his  hand, 
and  left  Lydia  there,  transfixed,  trying  to  think,  trying  to 
understand  herself  and  him.  As  Pelham  said,  the  hunters 
refused  to  stay  up  in  the  rim  country.  Ridiculous  as  it 
seemed,  to  have  come  up  there  simply  to  go  down  again 
without  attempting  any  shooting,  they  insisted  on  doing 
so.  The  snow  might  not  have  come  for  weeks,  but,  now 
that  it  had  begun  it  would  probably  go  on,  and  lie  deep  on 
the  ground  till  the  spring. 

Men  and  horses  had  been  frozen  before  on  the  high  lands 
of  Arizona,  overtaken  in  camp  by  a  ten-foot  fall,  and  left 
only  their  skeletons  and  the  camp  fittings  to  tell  the  tale  in 
the  spring.  They  would  not  risk  staying,  and  without  con- 
sulting for  a  moment  their  patrons  they  began,  American 
fashion,  to  break  up  their  camp,  pack  their  bag  and  baggage 
and  prepare  for  the  descent.  The  Colonel,  furious  at  first, 
was  thoroughly  frightened  finally  by  their  tales  of  whitening 
bones  and  skulls  of  starved  campers,  and  packed  up,  speedily, 
the  luggage  for  himself  and  his  lazy  wife. 

"I'm  rather  sick  of  the  shooting  altogether,  Jack,"  she 
remarked,  sitting  watching  him  pack  a  refractory  animal. 
"Let's  get  down  and  on  to  the  train  at  Flagstaff  as  soon 
as  we  can,  and  back  to  civilisation." 

"All  right.  It's  as  Pelham  likes,"  returned  the  Colonel, 
battling  with  a  strap.  "He  started  this  shoot." 

"Oh,  Eustace  won't  come  back  yet,"  replied  Mrs  Bris- 
towe,  laughing.  "He's  still  occupied  with  the  chase.  We 
can't  wait  for  him." 

She  glanced  to  where  Pelham  stood,  close  to  Lydia's 
side  as  she  nailed  a  box  lid. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  answered  in  unmoved  tones. 
"I  shall  stay  a  little  longer  in  the  valley  and  see  what  fortune 
I  have." 

This  time,  in  making  the  descent,  the  hunters  chose  an 


216  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

easier  route;  they  turned  to  the  south  and  struck  a  trail  that, 
after  three  or  four  miles  on  the  level  plateau,  came  to  the 
edge,  where  fairly  wide  terraces,  cut  in  the  face  of  the  cliffs, 
wound  slowly,  by  easy  and  exquisitely  wooded  gradients, 
to  the  valley.  At  Pelham's  earnest  request  Lydia  gave 
her  horse  this  time  to  one  of  the  hunters  to  lead  down  the 
easier  slopes,  and  he  and  she  fell  behind  the  others,  walking 
slowly  in  the  rear  of  the  long  procession.  At  any  other 
time  he  would  have  been  keenly  annoyed  at  going  back 
from  such  an  expedition  empty-handed,  with  no  deer  slaugh- 
tered, no  blood  on  his  hands,  no  stain  on  his  gun,  his  desire 
for  killing  unappeased,  but  now,  since  there  was  other  and 
just  as  good  game  in  view,  other  slaying  and  devastation  to 
be  accomplished  on  ahead,  he  was  quite  satisfied  and  in  a 
pleased  and  pleasing  temper.  The  morning  was  lovely; 
for  the  present  the  sky  had  done  its  work  and  its  stored-up  snow 
had  fallen;  it  was  now  calm  and  tranquil,  of  the  palest 
and  most  exquisite  blue,  out  of  which,  though  no  clouds 
were  visible,  fell,  at  rare  intervals,  one  tiny  flake,  or  two,  of 
snow.  Every  tree  had  a  mantle  of  glittering  diamonds, 
the  ground  was  glisteningly,  radiantly  white.  Lydia  walked 
beside  Pelham  in  silence,  her  brain  torn  by  emotions  battling 
amongst  themselves.  She  felt  she  hated  herself,  hated  her 
companion.  Yet  there  was  a  violent  delight  at  being  beside 
him,  a  wonderful  excitement.  Nothing  like  this  feeling  had 
ever  shaken  her  before.  Her  passion  for  Bernard  had  been 
very  wild  and  very  great,  but  as  there  had  been  no  barrier 
to  its  gratification,  there  had  been  no  obstacle  against  which 
it  could  measure  its  strength.  Now,  to  her  amaze,  she  felt 
this  new  desire  within  her,  fighting  furiously  against  her 
love  for  Bernard,  and  recognised,  with  terror,  it  was  all- 
conquering,  all-powerful.  It  was  greater  than  the  other  had 
ever  been.  Had  she  been  free  she  felt  there  would  have  come 
into  her  heart  now  a  glorious  happiness,  a  joy  surpassing 
any  she  had  known.  She  would  have  asked  nothing, 
stipulated  nothing,  demanded  nothing  of  Pelham  except 
himself,  taking  his  love,  as  a  gift  from  the  hands  of  Life, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  217 

thankfully  without  any  doubt,  hesitation,  cavilling  or  con- 
ditions, taking  all  chances,  asking  nothing  for  the  future, 
because  it  was  so  dazzling  a  toy,  for  the  moment  so  coveted, 
so  supremely  necessary,  so  intensely  satisfying.  She  knew 
she  would  never  have  given  herself  to  Bernard  without 
marriage,  but  to  this  man  she  felt,  horrible  as  the  thought 
was  to  herself,  that  she  would.  And  why  ?  "'The  question 
came  to  her  madly.  Her  brain  seemed  on  fire  with  resent- 
ment, with  surprise,  with  anger,  at  this  invasion  of  an  out- 
side, an  extraordinary  influence.  She  looked  at  him  as  he 
walked  beside  her.  He  was  not  quite  so  tall  nor  so  broad- 
shouldered  as  Bernard,  but  still  tall  and  erect,  without  the 
least  stiffness.  The  figure  had  an  unusual  elegance  about 
it,  difficult  to  define;  it  was  slim  and  lithe,  beautifully  built 
and  put  together.  The  profile  was  good,  well  cut,  and 
exceedingly  refined,  the  nose  particularly  so,  straight  and 
hard,  fine  without  being  thin  and  sharp — the  nose  of  one 
who,  whatever  other  pleasures  he  might  indulge  in,  never 
over  ate  or  over  drank.  The  skin  was  a  little  tanned  by 
constant  outdoor  life,  a  clear  pale  tan,  and,  like  the  features, 
suggested  refinement.  He  turned  to  her,  feeling  her  gaze, 
and  she  was  struck  again  by  the  force  and  power  of  his  ex- 
pression, blended  with  the  calm  gravity  and  serenity  of  his 
face. 

"Don't  hurry  so,"  he  said,  smiling.  "We  have  all  the 
day  before  us." 

"We  must  follow  the  others,"  she  answered,  mechan- 
ically, keeping  her  eyes  on  his  face.  She  was  thinking  it 
was  not  exactly  intellectual,  but  there  was  a  great  intelligence 
in  it.  It  was  clever,  with  the  cleverness  of  life  rather  than 
of  books. 

"Nonsense,  there  is  not  the  least  need.  We  can  find  the 
way  down  from  here  perfectly  alone.  I  have  hunted  too 
much  in  wild  countries  to  get  lost.  Let's  sit  and  rest  a 
little  in  this  dell.  It's  lovely  here." 

Lydia's  feet  slackened  in  mechanical  obedience.  The 
sound  of  the  downward  movement  ahead  of  them,  and  the 


218  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

tinkle  of  the  bells,  came  back  faintly  to  them  on  the  silver  air, 
then  lessened  and  lessened,  and  ceased.  The  hollow  they 
had  entered  was  full  of  gold  leaves;  all  through  the  autumn 
they  had  drifted  in  here  in  their  gilded  millions,  and  now 
lay  there,  at  rest,  gleaming  softly  in  the  winter  sunlight; 
they  yielded,  whispering  together,  as  the  four  human  feet 
pressed  them,  crossing  the  dell.  Pelham  went  to  the  farther 
side  and  sat  down  on  the  turfy  edge  of  the  hollow,  where 
the  snow  lay  in  a  thin,  crisp  silver  crust.  Lydia  fell  back 
and  took  her  seat  on  the  edge  opposite,  and  so  they  faced 
each  other  across  the  hollow  of  dead  leaves.  It  was  very 
still;  Nature  was  not  awake,  stirring  and  ardent,  leaping 
and  driving  upwards  in  all  things  as  she  is  in  the  spring, 
filling  them  with  her  mad  impulses.  She  was  asleep,  wrapped 
in  a  majestic  repose.  There  was  a  certain  awfulness  in 
this  aloofness  of  Nature  from  these  two  mortals  and  their 
mortal  passions.  There  seemed,  to  Pelham's  fancy,  almost 
a  menace  in  the  heavy  stillness  of  the  dead  cold  air,  so  divinely 
clear;  never  had  he  felt  so  entirely  alone  with  another  as  he 
did  now,  and  a  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  his  own  actions 
weighed  upon  him  as  it  seldom  does  at  such  moments. 
Nature  was  not  with  them,  urging,  exciting,  aiding,  excusing, 
co-operating,  as  she  so  often  is;  she  was  asleep,  cold,  inac- 
cessible, indifferent.  Whatever  was  to  happen  hi  the  next 
few  minutes  he  alone  would  be  responsible  for.  In  the  white 
silence  there  seemed  to  be  a  dictum,  "Take  this  woman, 
desecrate  this  shrine  if  you  will — at  your  own  risk.  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  you."  But  the  man's  whole  blood 
and  nature  responded  to  the  challenge:  he  had  the  soul  of 
the  hunter,  and  what  hunter  forbears  to  shoot  when  the 
quarry  stands  still  at  last  facing  him?  His  eyes  travelled 
slowly  up  the  scarlet  stem  of  a  huge  red  fir  tree,  giant  among 
giants,  that  grew  beside  the  hollow,  till  gaze  was  lost  in  the 
bell  of  green  foliage,  and  then  went  up  beyond  to  the  serene 
light  blue  sky.  He  put  his  hand  down  on  the  bank  beside  him. 
"Come  and  sit  here,"  he  said,  looking  across  at  her  with 
a  smile. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  219 

Lydia  rose  and  hesitated,  then  she  crept  across  the  hollow, 
as  a  mouse  creeps  towards  the  snake  waiting  for  it. 

When  she  had  taken  her  place  beside  him  he  looked  at 
her  again,  and  she  looked  back  at  him,  the  colour  trembling 
uncertainly  in  her  cheeks — that  delightful  waiting  fear,  that 
mad  expectancy  which  is  one  of  the  best  parts  of  love,  rushed 
into  her  heart  and  through  her  frame,  filling  her.  How 
long  now  since  she  had  felt  it!  This  very  essence  of  life 
pouring  so  strangely  through  her  veins.  Pelham  bent  down 
over  her,  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  kissed  her  and  drew 
her  close  to  his  breast. 

"  You  are  happy  in  my  arms  ?"  he  said  softly. 

Lydia  put  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  should  be  if  it  were  not  for  Bernard.  As  it  is  I  am 
utterly  miserable." 

Pelham  laughed. 

"Little  goose,"  he  said  gently.  "Why  do  you  bother 
about  him?  He  must  look  out  for  himself.  He  has  had 
you  for  six  years  now,  it's  time  you  gave  another  fellow  a 
chance." 

The  girl  made  no  answer.  The  extremes  of  misery  and 
happiness,  pain  and  pleasure,  were  invading  her  being, 
paralysing  her  between  them. 

"So  you  love  Bernard  and  nobody  has  come  between 
you  all  these  six  years ?  He  has  had  you  all  to  himself?" 

"Yes.    I  love  him.     He  is  a  splendid  fellow." 

"He  is — to  look  at.  But  I  should  have  thought  the  life 
was  too  dull,  too  narrow  for  you.  You  must  want  more 
than  he  can  give  you." 

"Perhaps.    I  don't  know." 

The  cold  tide  of  self-reproach,  of  hopelessness,  of  des- 
peration, was  swallowing  her  up  in  spite  of  the  ecstatic  feeling 
of  delight  the  touch  of  his  arms  gave  her. 

"You  must  come  away  with  me  when  I  leave,"  he  con- 
tinued, stroking  the  soft  ebony  waves  of  hair  pushed  up  like 
ruffled  silk  against  his  arm.  "I  am  going  down  into  Mexico. 
Bernard  will  want  to  stay  with  his  ranch,  as  he  did  yester- 


220  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

day,"  he  laughed;  the  tones  of  his  light  voice  were  half 
joking  and  quizzical.  It  was  only  in  the  touch  of  his  lips 
when  he  kissed  her  that  she  knew  the  reality  of  his  intentions. 

She  wrenched  herself  free  from  his  arms  and  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  bank  beside  him. 

"But  how  can  you  come  into  a  man's  house,  be  hospit- 
ably welcomed  and  entertained,  and  in  return  try  to  steal 
the  thing  he  values  most — his  wife?  What  do  you  think 
of  the  man,  taken  in  and  kindly  treated,  who  then  leaves 
with  his  benefactor's  spoons?" 

Pelham's  brows  contracted:  a  look  of  iron  hardness 
came  over  his  face. 

"It  seems  to  me,  in  this  case,  the  mistress  of  the  house 
is  giving  away  the  spoons,"  he  said  coldly. 

"You  are  quite  right.  If  you  are  bad  I  am  a  thousand 
times  worse,"  Lydia  responded  furiously.  "It's  that  that 
makes  me  so  wretched." 

Pelham  was  silent  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  slipped  his 
arm  round  her  again. 

"You  must  not  worry  about  morality  or  right  and  wrong. 
It's  all  a  fiction:  there's  nothing  in  it.  As  for  Bernard, 
he  must  look  out  for  himself.  Each  man  has  to  fight  for 
his  own,  both  to  get  it  and  keep  it." 

"No,  I  am  not  thinking  about  the  morality,"  returned 
Lydia,  leaning  her  chin  on  her  hands,  and  gazing  down  on 
the  gold  carpet  beneath  their  feet  with  drawn  brows,  "there 
is  nothing  in  that,  as  you  say.  It's  only  a  ridiculous  code 
that  man  has  been  idiot  enough  to  make  up  for  his  own 
annoyance,  I  quite  feel  that,  with  you.  Do  you  know,  I 
think  it's  so  funny  that  English  people  should  make  such  a 
fuss  over  what  they  call  morality,  when  there  is  absolutely 
nothing  in  their  own  religion  to  support  it.  I  have  read  the 
New  Testament  all  through  and  Christ  does  not  say  a  word 
about  what  we  are  to  do,  or  not  to  do,  in  moral  things.  One 
might  have  a  hundred  wives,  or  husbands,  or  lovers,  for 
anything  He  says.  He  merely  enjoined  us  to  be  kind,  to 
love  OUT  neighbours  as  ourselves,  etc.  That  is  the  ethical 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  221 

law  running  through  all  religions.  I  think  there  is  truth  in 
that.  It  is  so  universal,  isn't  it  ?  " 

She  glanced  up  at  him  as  she  made  her  query. 

He  was  gravely  watching  her,  listening,  quietly  interested. 

He  nodded.  "Yes.  One  can't  very  well  get  away 
from  that." 

"Well,  that  is  the  law  I  am  breaking  if  I  leave  Bernard. 
That  is  what  I  feel.  I  shall  be  doing  something  unkind. 
I  shall  be  making  him  unhappy.  I  don't  care  about  any- 
thing else.  I  would  leave  him  to-morrow  if  I  could  give 
him  some  young,  pretty  girl  to  amuse  him,  to  immediately 
take  my  place,  if  I  could  do  it  in  some  way  without  making 
him  unhappy." 

Pelham  smiled  with  slightly  raised  eyebrows. 

"Do  you  talk  to  the  practical  Bernard  like  this,"  he  asked, 
"about  morality?" 

"Oh,  no.  Bernard  would  not  understand.  I  have 
never  talked  to  anyone,  except,  the  day  before  yesterday,  to 
Mrs  Bristowe.  She  is  very  clever:  we  talked  a  great  deal: 
about  you  for  one  thing,"  she  added,  looking  up  again. 
"You  have  been  very  fond  of  each  other." 

"Mrs  Bristowe  and  I  have  been  very  good  friends,  never 
anything  more,"  he  said,  quietly  and  easily.  Lydia  smiled 
to  herself.  How  easily  and  well  he  lied.  He  must  be  an 
accomplished  liar,  must  have  had  practice.  To  lie  was 
his  habit,  evidently.  She  did  not  pursue  the  point.  She 
had  heard  the  whole  story  from  Mrs  Bristowe  and  knew  all 
she  wanted  from  her  and  from  her  own  observations.  Being 
an  intensely  candid  nature  herself,  she  despised  him  for  the 
lie,  though  she  admitted,  in  this  particular  case,  he  could 
hardly  do  otherwise.  But  she  felt  it  was  ha  his  character 
to  lie  and  deceive,  it  came  to  him  naturally. 

"He  must  constantly  do  it,"  she  thought,  "in  his  pro- 
fession of  wife-stealing." 

"I  wonder  what  would  have  happened  if  we  had  met 
when  I  was  sixteen  ?"  she  said,  after  a  Moment. 

"We  should  have  had  a  good  time,  I  expect,"  he  an- 


222  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

swered,  smiling,  and  leaning  over  her,  "as  we  shall  have  now, 
if  you  don't  spoil  it,  darling,  darling." 

He  had  drawn  her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  but  she 
gathered  together  the  whole  of  her  mental  strength  and 
struggled  away  from  him  in  a  sudden  terror  of  him 
and  of  herself.  Then  she  ran  over  the  gold  leaves, 
over  the  level  plateau,  and  then  down  and  down 
the  wide  grassy  terraces  ran  quickly,  with  all  her 
speed,  till  she  was  within  sound  again  of  the  jingling 
bells. 

Pelham  rose  and  followed  her  tranquilly.  If  not  to-day, 
a  few  days  hence — he  was  sure  of  her,  sure  of  his  influence 
over  her.  When,  at  last,  far  down  the  slope,  he  overtook 
her  walking  slowly  not  far  behind  the  others,  only  ordinary 
conversation  was  resumed  between  them.  Pelham  knew 
well  the  peculiar  obstinacy  that  comes  over  women  when 
much  pressed  to  any  course  by  a  man,  and  the  ensuing  dis- 
appointment, that  is  his  best  ally,  which  invades  them  when 
he  stops  pressing.  So  he  merely  chatted  on  ordinary  topics, 
and  the  whole  party,  warmed  and  cheered  by  the  summer 
climate  welcoming  them  as  they  descended,  walked,  laughing 
and  talking  jovially,  into  the  ranch,  about  five  in  the  evening, 
to  find  Bernard  making  his  own  tea  and  much  surprised  at 
their  early  return.  He  roared  with  laughter  over  their 
arduous  climb  up  and  their  prompt  retreat  with  not  a  thing 
to  show  for  their  pains. 

"Snow?"  he  echoed.  "Why,  we've  had  all  the  snow 
there's  likely  to  be  till  next  year!  We  shall  have  now  a 
spell  of  the  most  glorious  weather  one  can  imagine,  clear 
away  to  the  spring." 

"So  we  thought,  and  told  those  fools  of  hunters  so," 
said  the  Colonel,  angrily.  "But  they  seemed  panic-stricken, 
they  wouldn't  listen  to  us." 

"Well,  no  one   can   positively  tell;    more  snow  might 
come,  and  then  it  would  be  dangerous,  but  I  think  myself 
it's  over  for  the  year." 
.     He  was  moving  about,  getting  tea  for  them.     He  would 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  223 

not  let  any  of  them  work,  but  insisted  on  their  sitting  down 
and  letting  him  wait  on  them. 

After  the  meal  was  over  he  threw  more  logs  on  the  fire, 
great  blocks  of  slow-burning  cedar,  and  they  drew  in  round 
it  in  a  half  circle.  A  little  chill  of  the  evening  was  in  the 
still  moonlit  air  outside.  The  Colonel  and  his  wife  sat  in 
the  two  easy  chairs  on  opposite  sides  of  the  fire.  Bernard, 
Lydia  and  Pelham  sat  together  between  them,  Lydia  on 
the  rug,  with  her  head  leaning  against  Bernard's  knee.  She 
was  glad  to  be  back  with  him.  How  handsome  he  was, 
and  so  immensely  kind  and  good  and  nice,  so  good-tempered 
and  bright.  He  was  delightful.  How  she  wished,  as  she 
glanced  at  Pelham  sitting  beside  them,  that  this  could  go  on, 
that  she  could  remain  with  Bernard,  and  yet  keep  Pelham 
also,  for  her  own,  with  his  stately  gravity,  the  quiet  dignity 
of  mien,  the  mysterious  air  of  life  and  experience,  of  knowl- 
edge and  power,  about  him,  that  so  attracted  her;  how  she 
wished  that  she  need  not  part  from  the  man  she  still  loved, 
but  yet  have  this  outside  desire  of  another  pressing  close 
to  the  walls  of  her  life  and  throwing  its  excitement  into  it! 
It  was  a  strange  feeling,  and  she  did  not  know  how  to  name  or 
define  it. 

It  was  the  vain  sighing  of  the  Soul  for  the  Whole  of  Life, 
that  struggling  breath  within,  which  is  the  cause  of  all  in- 
fidelities. The  Colonel  and  his  wife  told  Bernard  they 
intended  to  start  homeward,  by  train  from  Flagstaff,  as  soon 
as  they  could  get  there.  They  were  tired  of  shooting  and 
camping  for  a  time.  Pelham  surprised  everyone  by  re- 
marking he  was  going  to  leave  the  ranch  that  night,  take 
his  tents  and  move  down  to  what  was  known  as  the  Blue 
Creek :  he  should  shoot  there,  if  he  found  game,  for  another 
week  perhaps,  then  move  on  to  Kingsley,  a  little  station  north 
of  the  Creek,  and  go  home  from  there. 

Bernard  expostulated.  "Oh,  stay  the  night  here:  you 
will  be  dead  beat  if  you  start  for  Blue  Creek  now.  You  can 
be  off  in  the  morning  as  early  as  you  like." 

"I  like  travelling  by  night,"  answered  Pelham,  quietly. 


224  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"The  scene  in  the  forest  is  magnificent  by  moonlight.  It's 
only  half -past  six  now.  I  shall  be  in  camp  by  four  in  the 
morning." 

Lydia  felt  herself  pale,  and  leant  forward  that  the  red 
glow  of  the  fire  might  fall  on  her  face.  He  was  going!  What 
should  she  do  if  she  lost  him  ?  If  he  passed  out  of  her  life  ? 
She  had  been  so  occupied  by  thinking  of  all  that  would 
ensue  upon  her  going  with  him,  she  had  not  thought  of 
what  she  would  feel  if  he  left  her  now.  It  came  upon  her 
suddenly  that  she  would  go  mad  if  he  went  and  her  life 
swallowed  her  up  again,  smothering  her  in  its  quietness,  its 
monotony. 

She  could  not  second  her  husband's  appeal  to  him  to 
stay,  she  felt  speechless,  powerless.  Mrs  Bristowe,  however, 
stared  at  Pelham  across  the  firelit  space,  with  open  eyes. 
"Why,  Eustace — ?"  she  exclaimed,  in  supreme  astonish- 
ment, and  then  burst  into  fits  of  laughter.  Pelham  sat 
quite  unmoved  for  a  few  seconds  and  then  rose,  with  the 
remark,  "I  am  going  to  look  out  my  tents  and  traps."  Ber- 
nard followed  to  see  if  he  could  help  him.  Lydia  sat  trans- 
fixed and  motionless. 

After  an  interval  Bernard  came  back. 

"Where's  Pelham?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"I  left  him  by  the  stables.  He  is  just  fixing  up  his 
saddle,  something's  gone  wrong  with  it.  I  am  sorry  he 
feels  he  must  go  off  late  like  this,  but  it's  certainly  a  lovely 
night." 

Lydia  got  up  from  the  rug,  moved  about  the  room  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then  went  out.  She  slipped  to  the  back 
of  the  house  and  then  stepped  over  the  threshold.  The 
air  was  fine  and  soft,  the  chill  of  the  sunset  had  gone,  the 
sky  was  full  of  stars,  and  the  moon,  rising  steadily,  lighted 
the  whole  scene  exquisitely.  Lydia  crossed  to  the  stables 
behind  the  house:  the  door  was  open  and  she  heard  move- 
ments within:  she  entered,  stepping  just  inside.  In  the 
grey  hah*  light  she  saw  Pelham 's  figure  standing  by  his  horse. 

"You  are  really  going?"  she  said. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  225 

"You  seemed  to  think  I  was  abusing  your  husband's 
hospitality,"  he  answered:  his  voice  was  very  low,  and  she 
noticed  what  a  hard  tone  it  had  now.  "  I  was  a  sort  of  burglar, 
or  worse,  stealing  the  silver,  so  I  cannot  do  better  than  go." 

Lydia  leant  back  against  the  rough  wall,  feeling  she 
needed  its  support.  Pelham  looked  at  her  and  thought  how 
magnificent  she  looked,  her  tall  figure  seen  against  the  grey 
light,  her  breast  rising  and  falling,  her  face  a  glow  of  colour. 

"Am  I  never  to  see  you  again?"  she  asked,  ignoring  the 
way  he  threw  the  blame  of  his  leaving  on  her.  Her  voice 
was  hardly  above  a  whisper.  Pelham  left  his  horse  and 
came  up  to  her. 

"You  can  see  me  again  as  soon  as  you  like,"  he  said 
softly,  smiling.  "I  am  not  going  to  Blue  Creek,  that's  only 
for  your  husband's  benefit.  I  shall  ride  down,  to-night,  in 
that  direction,  but  where  the  road  forks  I  shall  turn  off  and 
go  a  little  way  into  the  forest.  I  shall  pitch  my  tent  just  by 
the  old  cattle  corral,  you  must  know  it  quite  well.  There 
I  shall  stay  for  three  nights,  and  you  will  come  to  join  me  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  away — and  we'll  go  down  into  Mexico 
together." 

Then  he  leant  forward  and  kissed  her  on  her  mouth. 
Her  face  had  been  lifted  towards  him,  her  lips  a  little  parted, 
as  she  listened.  The  kiss  seemed  to  send  a  shock  all  through 
her,  paralysing  her,  rooting  her  to  the  ground,  as  the  touch 
of  an  electric  battery.  Her  lips  were  intensely  conscious  of 
it  and  remembered  it,  feeling  it  again  through  years  after- 
wards, though  many  other  kisses  had  been  exchanged. 

Pelham  walked  out  into  the  moonlight,  leading  his  horse, 
through  the  soft,  flickering,  dancing  shadows  thrown  by  the 
trees,  and  went  up  towards  the  house. 


15 


PART  III 
THE    EXCHANGE 


iv 

xpaivoufft  0so{ 
xal  TO.  doxfjdsvT  dux 
twv 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"I  FIND  the  stores  are  all  getting  low,  or  out.  I  shall  have 
to  go  to  town  with  the  wagon  and  get  some  more,"  remarked 
Bernard. 

It  was  the  third  day  after  the  party  had  broken  up  at 
the  ranch.  Pelham  had  gone,  as  he  had  given  out,  to  Blue 
Creek,  by  night,  and  the  Colonel  and  his  wife  had  left  the 
following  day.  An  immense  quiet  had  supervened  on  their 
going,  and  even  Bernard  felt  it  and  was  rather  glad  that  the 
lack  of  stores  gave  him  the  excuse  of  a  trip,  with  the  wagon, 
to  town. 

Lydia  looked  at  him  across  the  breakfast-table,  her  face 
whitening.  So,  on  this  last  night,  she  was  to  be  left  alone, 
mistress  of  herself,  the  way  for  her  made  easy.  Was  this  her 
destiny?  Should  she  accept  it?  She  looked  at  Bernard 
keenly.  His  face  was  so  dear  to  her  on  account  of  its  beauty, 
its  fine  features,  its  warm  clear  skin,  the  charming  smile 
showing  the  even  teeth,  the  bright,  intelligent  eyes.  He  was 
looking  particularly  well  and  happy.  No,  she  thought, 
she  must  keep  to  him.  She  could  not  make  him  unhappy. 
At  whatever  cost  to  herself  she  must  stay  here:  die  here  if 

226 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  227 

necessary:  she  could  not  leave  him.  She  would  go  with  him 
to-day,  and  to-morrow,  when  she  returned,  all  would  be  over 
and  of  the  past,  as  far  as  Pelham  was  concerned.  He  would 
be  gone. 

"I  should  like  to  come  up  with  you,"  she  responded. 
"Take  me,  Bernard,"  she  continued,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
the  excitement  of  her  forming  resolutions,  "and  we'll  stay 
the  night  there.  We'll  do  our  shopping  and  then  put  up  at 
the  hotel.  It'll  be  great  fun.  I  shall  enjoy  it." 

Bernard  hesitated.  For  years  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  spend  only  with  the  greatest  care,  to  save,  to  economise, 
and  he  saw  that  taking  his  wife  with  him  would  mean  a 
wholly  unnecessary  expense.  He  would  like  it,  enjoy  having 
her  with  him,  but  were  they  justified  in  pleasing  themselves 
at  the  cost  ? 

"I  think  we  had  hardly  better  go  to  the  expense  of  your 
coming,"  he  said,  after  a  minute,  "unless  you  have  some  very 
special  reason." 

"Oh,  no,"  returned  Lydia,  hastily.  What  else  could 
she  say?  She  was  afraid  of  her  own  voice  and  sat  silent. 
Bernard  went  out  after  breakfast  to  look  through  the  stores 
and  make  lists  of  what  was  wanted.  Lydia,  left  alone,  felt 
wild  with  terror  of  herself  and  longing  to  make  her  own  de- 
sires impossible. 

It  seemed  ages  till  Bernard  came  in  again.  When  he  did, 
he  came  up  to  her  chair,  and  putting  his  hands  on  the  back 
said  he  was  ready  to  start. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  hot  eyes.  "Do,  please,  take  me 
with  you,"  she  said,  clinging  to  him  with  nervous  hands. 
He  looked  down  at  her,  not  unkindly,  but  with  a  practical, 
prosaic  surprise  that  jarred  upon  her. 

"Tell  me  why  you  wish  to  come  so  much,  so  specially, 
this  time,"  he  asked  good-humouredly. 

Lydia  looked  at  him  desperately,  with  the  eyes  of  one  at 
bay.  Should  she  tell  him  the  real  reason,  she  asked  herself? 
How  could  she  ?  Tell  him  she  was  afraid  to  be  left  alone 
with  her  passions,  lest  they  should  drive  her  to  another  man! 


228  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

She  could  not  say  that.  It  would,  if  said,  cut  at  the  founda- 
tion of  their  after  life  together. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  stammered.  "  I  hate  being  left 
behind.  Just  take  me  because  I  ask  you  to,  won't  you  ?" 

"It  seems  so  unreasonable,"  he  returned,  in  a  man's  dull, 
hammering  way.  "Besides,  there's  the  child." 

Lydia's  face  darkened.  Why,  after  all,  should  he  put 
the  child's  needs  before  her  desires  ?  Was  it  not  she  who 
had  given  him  the  child,  as  she  had  given  him  everything  ? 

"I  can  take  the  child,"  she  answered  shortly. 

Bernard  put  her  from  him  rather  resolutely.  "It  is 
waste,"  he  said,  "to  spend  money  on  a  mere  fancy.  You 
had  much  better  stay  here.  I  shall  only  be  away  one 
night." 

Lydia's  face  grew  very  pale,  her  nervous,  clinging  hands 
dropped  away  from  him.  She  said  nothing.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  He  had  formed  his  resolution  to  go  alone, 
and  she  did  not  see  how  to  break  it  up  without  betraying 
herself  too  far. 

"Please,  take  me,"  she  murmured,  as  he  was  turning 
away.  "I  have  a  good  reason." 

"It  can't  be  a  good  reason  or  you  could  tell  it  to  me," 
he  answered  shortly.  "I  never  knew  you  to  be  so  childish 
before,"  and  he  went  out. 

Lydia  remained  in  her  chair.  She  let  her  head  sink  in 
her  hands. 

"He  is  quite  right,"  she  thought.  "It's  not  a  good 
reason:  it's  a  bad  one.  But  it's  a  reason  all  the  same." 

Outside,  Bernard  was  putting  in  the  horses.  His  heart 
smote  him:  perhaps  he  had  been  rather  unkind  to  her. 
When  all  was  ready  for  the  start,  he  turned  into  the  house 
again,  and,  coming  up  to  where  she  still  sat,  he  put  his  arm 
round  her  and  kissed  her. 

"Good-bye,  little  girl,"  he  whispered,  "I  shall  be  back 
soon." 

Lydia  accepted  the  kiss  passively,  and  let  him  go  without 
ft  word.  "What's  the  use  of  a  man  making  up  to  you  just 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  229 

after  he's  refused  to  do  what  you  want,"  she  thought.    "Just 
like  them,"  and  the  kiss  had  no  effect  upon  her. 

She  heard  the  door  close  and  the  wagon  start,  and  the 
horses'  hoofs  on  the  road.  Then  there  was  stillness;  sunny, 
brilliant  stillness  outside,  and  in  the  room,  where  the  sun 
beat  fiercely  on  the  panes  and  fell  hi  broad  burning  bands 
across  the  floor.  Lydia  lay  back  in  the  chair,  with  closed 
eyes.  A  great  horror  of  herself  was  upon  her.  Two  streams 
of  emotion  flowed  over  her  and  she  felt  as  if  raised  and 
swayed  inertly  by  their  alternate  tides.  One  was  the 
cold,  reasoning  regret  that  she  had  been  left  behind,  the 
other,  a  hot,  mad  onrush  of  delight  that  she  was  alone  and 
free.  And  this  last,  this  fierce  undertow,  was  so  much 
stronger  than  the  other,  that  she  struggled  vainly,  as  a 
helpless  swimmer,  to  keep  herself  afloat  hi  the  cool,  calm 
upper  tide.  The  undertow  dragged  her  down,  engulfed  her, 
and  she  knew  herself,  her  old  self,  drowning  in  its  rushing 
waves.  Visions  came  before  her  eyes  of  the  little  white 
tent,  pitched  amongst  the  trees,  like  a  pearl  amongst  emeralds. 
How  cool  it  must  be  in  the  thick  green  of  the  forest,  with 
only  a  gold  shaft  of  light  piercing  through  the  leafy  cover  here 
and  there.  To-morrow  that  little  tent  would  be  gone,  and  the 
forest  would  know  it  no  more,  and  with  it  would  vanish  her 
one  chance  of  escape  to  the  great  world,  to  the  open  deeps 
of  the  sea  of  Life  that  was  calling  her.  After  this  there 
would  be  no  more  hope  for  her.  The  soft-footed  years  would 
go  on,  flying  past  her,  snatching  away  from  her,  silently,  as 
they  passed,  her  gifts  and  powers  one  by  one.  She  would 
go  on,  and  on,  in  her  little  treadmill  round,  like  some  small, 
furred  captive  in  its  cage,  and  then  go  quietly  to  her  simple 
grave,  that  waited  for  her,  near  by,  in  the  forest.  With  a 
smothered  scream  she  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  As 
the  four  close  walls  of  the  cell  become  sometimes  unendurable 
to  the  recluse  and,  seeming  to  narrow  upon  him,  crush  him 
into  madness,  so  did  the  limits  of  her  life  seem  to  crush  in 
upon  the  girl.  There  was  no  moderate  outlet,  only  one  des- 
perate way  open,  only  one  low  door  through  which  she  could, 


230 

by  stooping,  creep.  All  the  energy,  the  vitality,  of  her  strong 
nature  called  out  in  stifled  cries.  The  bright  vigour  of  her 
brain,  the  joyous  health  of  all  her  body,  the  keen  edge  of  her 
senses  and  perceptions,  called  for  more  employment.  With 
an  effort  she  wrenched  her  thoughts  back  from  the  direction 
in  which  they  were  tending,  and  turned  them  towards  her 
husband's  home-coming.  If  he  could  only  respond  more 
to  her,  her  life,  circumscribed  as  it  was,  would  have  been 
tolerable.  It  was  not  his  fault  that  he  could  not.  He  could 
no  more  help  his  nature  than  she  hers.  She  recognised  that, 
as  is  the  case  with  most  women  in  their  relations  with  most 
men,  there  were  so  many  more  emotions,  perceptions,  vary- 
ing phases  and  moods  in  her  than  in  him. 

In  the  duet  of  life  between  man  and  woman,  the  woman's 
voice  has  usually  the  greater  range:  she  has  higher  notes 
and  lower  notes,  which  he  can  never  reach,  and  these  she 
has  to  sing  alone.  His  range  consists  of  a  few  middle  notes, 
generally  very  good  and  true,  but  he  has  only  these,  and 
these  are  the  sole  ones  that  they  can  sing  together.  The 
woman's  nature  is  so  far  more  complex  than  the  man's, 
that  it  would  hardly  tax  her  to  respond  to  a  hundred  different 
men.  No  wonder  that  she  rarely  finds  one  satisfy  her. 

What  is,  after  all,  the  tuning  fork  to  the  instrument? 
If  the  tuning  fork  is  A,  the  instrument  has  one  A  string 
amongst  its  many.  Strike  that  string  and  the  fork  responds 
in  unison,  but  strike  any  other  and  the  fork  is  silent,  or  in 
discord.  So  it  was  with  Lydia.  She  knew  that  it  was  only 
in  one  or  two  of  her  simplest  phases  that  her  mind  was  in 
harmony  with  Bernard's.  And  she  wanted  to  use  her  other 
strings,  so  to  speak,  sometimes.  Any  instrument  will  spoil 
and  get  out  of  repair  if  you  play  only  on  one  of  its  notes. 
The  one  string  wears  thin  from  overuse  and  the  others  rust 
or  swell  and  draw  tight,  and  shatter  the  instrument.  Dis- 
organised, shattered  now  was  the  once  perfect  instrument  of 
Lydia 's  mind  as  she  lay  that  last  afternoon  of  her  old  life 
in  the  chair,  with  the  bands  of  sun  burning  the  flooring.  Of 
course  the  world,  everybody,  would  tell  her  it  was  her  duty 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  231 

to  stay,  stay,  stay  with  Bernard  all  the  rest  of  her  life,  it 
might  well  be  fifty-seven  years,  she  thought,  working,  drudg- 
ing, slaving,  giving  up  her  health  and  strength  and  beauty 
year  by  year.  Yes,  they  would  say,  unquestionably,  she 
was  bound  to  go  on  doing  all  that  she  hated  until  eighty, 
because  she  had  once  liked  doing  it  at  sixteen.  But  was  she 
really  bound  ?  In  honour  ?  She  could  not  feel  convinced 
that  she  was.  It  was  true  that  she  had  promised.  But  at  the 
time  she  did  not  know  what  she  was  promising.  Bernard 
had,  for  his  own  advantage,  hurried  her,  while  under  the 
influence  of  passing  emotions,  into  declaring  things  wholly 
foreign  to  her  feelings,  ones  that  would  never,  naturally, 
have  risen  to  her  lips.  Was  she  more  bound  by  them  than  a 
man  is  by  promises  wrung  from  him  in  states  of  terror,  pain 
or  intoxication  ?  And  none  of  such  promises  are  held  binding 
in  law  or  honour. 

No,  on  the  ground  that  one  must  never  do  anything 
unkind,  never  sacrifice  another  to  oneself,  she  was  far  safer. 
These  were  her  natural  instincts,  and  to  leave  Bernard  was 
to  violate  them.  But  here  again,  she  felt,  the  conditions 
were  not  fair.  There  must  always  be  proportion  between 
the  benefit  conferred  and  the  sacrifice  made.  No  man 
would  be  required  to  have  his  arm  amputated  to  save  another 
from  having  a  cold,  even  by  the  most  rigid  law  of  charity  and 
self-sacrifice.  And  must  she,  ought  she  to  give  up  the  whole 
of  her  future,  her  reason  possibly — for  the  life  here  seemed 
driving  her  to  the  edge  of  madness — in  order  that  Bernard 
might  be  spared  the  pain  of  losing  her  and  not  be  obliged  to 
do  his  own  work  and  cook  his  own  dinner  ?  And  there  was 
another  point  to  be  considered :  if  she  did  lose  her  life  or  her 
reason,  not  even  Bernard  would  benefit  by  the  sacrifice. 
That  Bernard  would  suffer  if  she  went,  she  knew,  but  that 
he  would  not  suffer  one-tenth  of  that  she  must  suffer  if  she 
stayed  she  knew  as  certainly.  He  had  not  the  capacity  for 
feeling  which  she  had.  His  brain  could  no  more  feel  what 
hers  did,  than  her  arms  could  lift  the  weights  his  did.  He 
would  suffer,  she  foresaw,  perhaps  for  a  year.  After  that 


232  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

he  would  take  another  wife,  and  if  she  were  young,  pretty, 
worked  hard,  sewed  nicely  and  cooked  well,  Bernard  would 
be  happy  again.  He  loved  her  very  much,  it  was  true,  but 
he  loved  her,  she  knew,  principally  for  those  things — youth, 
prettiness,  usefulness — which  he  could  so  easily  find  in 
another.  Of  that  strange,  wild,  passionate  spirit  within  her, 
which  was  peculiarly  her  own,  and  could  not  be  duplicated, 
he  knew  very  little.  Lydia  did  not  think  he  would  miss  it. 
Their  union  had  not  been  one  of  those  that  are  divine,  an- 
chored in  the  soul.  It  had  been  of  the  flesh.  Then  why 
expect  of  it  what  the  flesh  cannot  give — fidelity  ? 

Twelve  o'clock  struck  from  the  clock  on  the  wall  above 
her,  and  she  rose  to  get  the  dinner.  She  could  not  eat, 
herself,  but  the  child  must  have  its  food,  no  matter  what  the 
mother  was  feeling  and  suffering.  Slowly  she  moved  into 
the  kitchen  and  gathered  the  plates  and  dishes  together, 
longing,  in  her  mad  gusts  of  feeling,  to  throw  them  from  her 
and  see  them  shiver  to  atoms  on  the  ground.  But  she  con- 
trolled herself  and  laid  them  regularly  on  the  table,  with  hot, 
trembling  fingers,  going  through  the  whole  routine  as  she 
had  done  two  thousand  times  before,  at  twelve  o'clock,  on 
that  same  table.  Regular  work  is  popularly  supposed  to 
be  a  safeguard  against  all  moral  difficulties,  but  it  kills  some 
natures  as  it  supports  others.  Two  or  three  days  of  reckless 
idleness  at  this  crisis  of  her  life  might  have  saved  Lydia. 
But  there  was  the  great  trial.  The  machinery  could  no 
more  be  stopped  for  three  days  than  three  years.  Round 
came  each  hour  with  its  appointed  little,  petty,  mechanical 
task,  bringing  no  more  than  that  with  it,  and  taking  that 
much  of  her  life  away.  The  table  was  laid,  and  the  food 
set  on  it,  at  last,  and  she  went  to  fetch  the  child,  still  playing 
silently,  interestedly,  as  only  an  intelligent  child  can  play, 
with  its  bricks,  in  the  corner.  Lydia  paused  a  minute  and 
looked  down  at  it,  absorbed,  unconscious,  on  the  floor  be- 
fore her.  "Now  the  bricks,"  she  mused,  "then  the  dolls, 
a  little  later  the  books,  and  then,  ah,  then!  the  passions  of 
men  will  be  her  toys,  and  why,  when  in  our  first  days  each 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  233 

year  brings  us  a  different  toy,  should  we  be  obliged  when  we 
grow  up  to  always  play  with  the  same  one  ?" 

"Come,  darling,  your  dinner's  ready,"  she  said  aloud. 

The  child  looked  up,  and  laying  down  her  bricks  obedi- 
ently, rose  and  trotted  briskly  after  her  mother  into  the  kitchen. 

"Mama's  not  eating  anything,"  she  remarked  after  a 
minute,  when  she  had  scrambled  up  on  her  chair  and  com- 
menced her  porridge. 

"No.  I  can't  eat  to-day,"  Lydia  answered,  leaning  her 
elbow  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  gazing  at  the  little  figure 
opposite  her.  It  was  lovely,  delicate  and  dainty  in  all  its 
ways  and  movements,  sweet  and  graceful  and  attractive,  a 
replica  of  herself  in  miniature. 

"Then  I  can't  either,"  came  its  soft  little  voice,  as  it  laid 
down  the  spoon  in  the  plate  and  looked  at  her  gravely.  A 
long  line  of  sun  came  in  sideways,  and  touched  the  chestnut 
curls  on  its  shoulders,  hair  lighter  and  brighter  than  her 
own,  and  struck  across  the  delicate  transparent  skin,  lighting 
up  the  eyes  and  the  whole  face  with  an  ethereal  loveliness, 
such  as  the  small  blue  butterflies  possessed  that  came  floating 
into  the  sunlit  room.  With  a  sudden  swift  movement  Lydia 
rose  from  her  place  and  caught  the  child  up  into  her  arms, 
covering  its  face  with  kisses,  in  a  stormy  passion  of  tears. 
Not  surprised  or  alarmed,  but  full  of  all  the  sympathy  its 
little  being  could  hold,  it  put  its  arms  softly  round  her  neck 
and  pressed  its  roseleaf  lips  into  her  cheek.  It  asked  no 
questions. 

"Poor  mamma,  poor  mamma,"  was  all  it  said. 

Lydia's  tears  were  soon  over.  Her  griefs  lay  below  the 
surface  of  any  tears.  They  dried  on  her  hot  lids  and  she 
set  the  child  back  in  its  chair,  and  taking  her  own,  made 
pretence  to  eat.  After  dinner  she  sent  the  child  into  the 
garden  to  play,  and  sat  down  again  in  the  big  armchair  by 
the  grate.  She  did  not  want  the  child  with  her.  It  was 
true  that  she  loved  it  with  all  the  strength  of  her  fervent 
nature,  but  it  could  not  help  her  now.  Filled  with  the 
strange  brain  passion  that  was  on  her  it  was  to  her  brain 


234  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

that  she  needed  some  response,  and  that  the  child  could  not 
give.  She  was  in  love  with  that  most  fatal  and  desperate 
lover  for  women— Life — and  Pelham  represented  Life  to 
her  in  an  extraordinary  degree.  She  felt,  whether  rightly 
or  wrongly,  that  he  had  seen,  felt,  done,  known  everything 
that  was  possible  for  one  man.  Life  was  a  vari -coloured, 
twisting,  gleaming  snake,  and  he  seemed  to  have  it  by  the 
throat,  clasped  easily  in  one  hand.  He  had  spoken  very 
little  of  himself,  beyond  saying  he  had  lived  in  many  differ- 
ent countries  and  tried  many  different  forms  of  existence, 
but  Lydia  felt,  instinctively,  that  only  Life  and  its  experiences 
could  have  given  his  face  its  expression,  his  manner  its  calm 
and  self-reliance,  his  voice  its  wonderfully  different  and 
varying  tones.  The  long,  glittering  afternoon  wore  slowly 
on  and  the  lovely  sheen  of  evening  crept  over  the  cornfields. 
Lydia,  thirsty  and  parched,  with  her  throat  and  head  on 
fire,  threw  some  logs  into  the  wide  grate,  and  hooked  the 
iron  kettle  in  the  chimney  over  them.  Then  she  sat  forward 
in  her  chair  and  gazed  into  it.  She  liked  to  see  the  cool 
spring  water,  calm  and  crystal  at  first,  become  slowly  troubled 
and  tremble  as  the  heat  waves  ran  through  it,  liked  to  watch 
the  agitation  increase  in  the  helpless  water,  until  it  rose,  in  its 
boiling  fury,  to  the  brim,  leaping  out  into  the  very  flames 
that  made  its  pain.  It  was  symbolic  of  her  own  fate.  At 
sixteen  her  being  had  been  calm  and  pure  as  the  fresh  spring 
water,  and  whose  the  hands  that  had  confined  it  in  iron  walls 
and  lighted  that  cruel  fire  beneath  ?  She  made  herself  some 
tea  and  drank  it  thirstily.  She  glanced  at  the  clock.  Five: 
well,  she  was  here :  she  had  not  gone  yet.  If  she  could  only 
hold  out  against  the  obsession  of  her  fierce  thoughts  and 
longings  until  to-morrow  noon,  all  would  be  safe. 

For  a  little  while  she  lay  in  a  sort  of  stupor  of  intense 
fatigue.  Then  she  rose,  found  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  began 
to  write  to  Bernard.  She  was  still  not  decided.  Some- 
thing impelled  her  to  write,  as  a  sort  of  experiment,  a  fare- 
well letter,  but  before  it  was  finished  she  had  decided.  She 
must  go.  She  sealed  the  letter  and  left  it  in  the  middle  of 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  235 

the  table,  gave  the  child  its  supper,  put  it  to  bed,  and  saw 
it  fall  asleep.  Then  she  descended  to  the  lower  room  again. 
She  slipped  out  of  the  door  and  softly  closed  it  behind  her. 
Then  she  paused,  looking  about  her.  The  pale  radiance 
of  the  moon  filled  the  whole  air.  It  was  deliciously  cool  and 
sweet  after  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  laden  with  the  fragrance 
of  fir  and  pine,  damp  violets  and  woodland  things.  All 
lay  still  and  soft  and  tranquil  round  her,  pure,  untroubled  and 
undefiled,  sleeping  under  the  silver  rays.  Lydia  looked  up 
and  down  the  silent  green  ways  that  opened  round  the  house. 
"The  dogs  are  off  hunting,  I  suppose,"  she  thought,  then 
she  paused  again.  It  was  very  still,  not  a  little  leaf  moved, 
not  a  murmur  came  up  from  the  great  forest.  Nothing 
barred  her  progress:  she  was  free.  The  house  behind  her 
stood  white  and  tranquil,  looking  restful  as  always,  with  its 
deep  gables:  the  door  would  open  again  to  her  hand.  She 
could  re-enter,  or  go  forth,  as  she  chose.  It  was  this  freedom 
that  clung  about  her  like  a  cloak,  impeding  her  flight  forward. 
She  had  not  had  freedom  enough  hitherto :  had  she  had  she 
would  never  perhaps  have  used  it  ill.  It  is  in  captivity  that 
desire  of  flight  is  born.  She  stood  still,  tortured  by  the  last 
throes  of  that  struggle  of  many  racking  hours.  In  that 
large  peace  of  the  night,  in  the  sweet  stillness,  in  the  centre 
of  that  wonderful  beauty,  only  one  aesthetic  like  herself 
could  realise  fully  all  she  was  losing.  "But  I  can  have  this 
— I  can  have  this  at  the  end  of  my  life ,  when  I  am  old .  Nature 
will  still  be  young,  but  the  other  I  can  never  have  if 
not  now." 

The  thought  of  Pelham's  face,  the  desire  to  see  it  again, 
came  across  her  brain  in  a  whirl  of  madness.  It  seemed  as 
if  palpable  hands  were  dragging  her  forward :  she  could  not 
get  free  from  them,  resist  them,  and  turn  back  into  the 
warm  quiet  of  the  house.  She  went  forward  a  few  steps, 
then,  without  a  look  back,  broke  into  a  run,  and  fled  swiftly 
down  the  green  alley  that  led  to  the  forest  camp.  It  was 
a  long  way  to  go  and  she  could  not  run  very  far.  She  was 
spent  and  worn  and  weary  with  the  long  conflict  of  the  day. 


236  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

The  woodland  opened  out  into  a  little  glade,  and  here,  on  a 
fallen  log,  Lydia  sank  down,  trembling.  She  was  calmer  now. 
"Tout  comprendre  c'est  tout  pardonner,"  she  thought, 
looking  up  absently  to  the  magnificent  trees  towering  over 
her  head,  great  lofty  firs,  rising  nobly  into  the  soft  moonlight; 
then  her  eyes  fell,  and  followed  the  undulating  slope  of  the 
rich  forest  land,  with  its  multitude  of  tiny  baby  fir  trees 
growing  up,  and  its  low,  flowering  shrubs.  "But  Bernard 
will  not  understand,  and  probably  will  not  be  able  to  forgive. 
No,  he  will  not  understand  what  my  life  has  been  and  how 
much  I  have  suffered  all  these  years."  The  expression 
of  her  face  grew  colder.  She  rose  and  took  the  small  green 
trail  again.  As  she  walked  on  a  wonder  grew  up  hi  her  at 
the  strange  force  that  was  pushing  her.  She  felt  obliged, 
forced,  constrained  to  do  this,  though  she  loathed  it,  though 
her  heart  felt  breaking  and  the  tears  stood  in  a  flood  behind 
her  eyes.  She  felt  she  was  not  going  of  her  own  choice  to 
Pelham,  but  that  she  was  being  forced  to  go.  She  did  not 
even  believe  that  it  would  bring  her  happiness:  she  believed 
she  was  saying  good-bye  to  happiness  for  the  rest  of  her 
life,  yet  she  was  obliged  to  go  forward.  She  did  not  exculpate 
herself  or  try  to  make  an  excuse  to  herself  for  herself  by  this 
reasoning  that  she  was  compelled :  had  she  been  reproached 
by  another  she  would  not  have  made  use  of  this  defence 
that  she  could  not  help  it.  She  hated  and  loathed  herself  with 
a  fierceness  greater  than  any  other  could  have  felt  towards 
her,  but  still,  in  her  inmost  being,  she  knew  and  realised 
that  she  was  helpless,  that  she  was  being  driven  onward, 
powerless  to  resist,  just  as  the  fallen  leaf  is  swept  onward 
by  the  storm  gust.  What  can  the  leaf  do  when  the  gust 
attacks  it,  lifts  it  up  and  flings  it  forward  ?  What  could  she 
do  now,  with  all  her  moral  being  disintegrated,  all  her  mental 
power  paralysed,  and  only  this  one  blind  instinct  pushing 
her  forward  like  the  storm  gust  ?  What  was  it  ?  WTiat  was 
this  force  outside  her  that  she  could  not  resist  nor  restrain, 
under  the  pressure  of  which  she  could  only  struggle  fruitlessly  ? 
She  had  seen  a  fly  on  a  sunny  pane,  suddenly  seized  upon, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  237 

gripped  by  a  spider,  and  then  slowly  wound  and  wrapped 
round,  in  spite  of  all  its  desperate  struggles,  with  fine,  sticky 
threads,  till,  still  living,  breathing,  palpitating,  it  had  lain, 
bound,  helpless,  mummy-like,  while  the  spider  slowly  de- 
voured it.  That  was  Nature :  the  working  out  of  one  of  her 
laws.  What  was  she  but  this  miserable  fly,  her  life  the 
sunny  pane  in  which,  unsuspected,  passions,  like  hungry 
spiders,  stalked  about.  One  of  these  had  darted  upon  her 
and  bound  her  up,  mummy-like,  in  its  viscous  coils,  help- 
less even  to  struggle;  the  passion,  like  the  spider,  had  now 
come  to  its  feast,  and  was  devouring  her,  living,  palpitat- 
ing, agonised,  unresisting.  There  seemed  no  outside  help. 
She  had  begged  Bernard  to  take  her  away,  but  he  had  not 
understood  and  had  left  her  in  the  claws  of  the  hungry 
spider.  Nothing  could  be  done  now:  the  law  must  work 
itself  out  to  the  end.  When  the  spider  has  once  begun  to 
suck  at  the  living  fly,  the  suction  goes  on  till  the  end,  till  the 
awful  death  is  complete,  and  the  empty  husk  of  the  tortured 
fly  drops  into  nothingness.  These  thoughts,  coursing  through 
her  brain,  became  so  horrible  to  her  that  she  stopped  and  laid 
one  hand  on  the  smooth  stem  of  a  little  sapling  by  her  path. 
She  clung  to  it  for  support;  a  sickening  dread  was  upon  her. 
"I  don't  want  to  go  on,"  she  said  aloud,  "I  want  to  go  back." 
Her  words  sounded  loud  to  herself  in  the  soft,  still  air:  there 
was  no  sound  in  the  forest:  little  glades  opened  round  her, 
with  velvety,  mossy  carpets,  and  full  of  subdued  and  misty 
light.  She  was  trembling  so  now  that  it  was  easier  to  sink 
upon  her  knees  than  stand,  and  on  her  knees  she  prayed 
wildly  for  strength,  for  help,  but  all  the  tune  there  seemed 
ringing  in  her  ears  a  defiant  proclamation.  She  had  to 
cease  praying  and  to  listen  to  it.  It  seemed  like  the  voice  of 
Nature  reading  out  the  law:  "You  must  go  on:  it  is  your 
destiny:  go  on  and  suffer  like  the  rest  of  humanity:  as  it 
shall  be  to  the  end.  What  have  I  created  a  woman  like 
you  for,  except  to  suffer  and  make  others  suffer  ?  You  have 
stood  on  the  banks  of  life's  stream  too  long  and  watched  it 
go  by.  Get  in  now,  into  its  turbulent  waves,  and  let  it 


238  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

wash  you  along  till  it  mangles  you  on  its  rocks.  That  is 
the  eternal  law.  Up!  To  your  destiny.  It  is  irrevocable. 
It  is  fixed.  There  is  no  appeal.  You,  miserable  atom, 
have  no  voice  in  the  matter.  These  things  are  governed  by 
me  and  by  eternity.  Up!  On!  The  night  is  passing. 
On!" 

Dragged  to  her  feet,  Lydia  rose  and  walked  on  quickly, 
feverishly,  yet  stumbling  now  and  then  like  a  driven  beast. 
"Bernard,  Bernard,  what  will  he  feel?  And  the  child — 
and  her  heart  seemed  drawn  asunder,  physical  and  mental 
pains  seemed  tearing  at  it,  going  through  body  and  mind. 
Yet  she  knew,  once  Pelham's  touch  was  upon  her,  they 
would  sink  into  nothingness:  that  everything  would  be 
lost  to  her  remembrance,  except  his  presence,  his  proximity: 
that  an  immense  comfort,  well-being  and  joy  would  flow  all 
through  her  when  she  reached  him,  and  the  hungry  desire 
to  be  out  of  this  present  pain,  this  anguish  of  remorse  and 
sorrow  for  others,  bounded  her  on.  As  her  feet  hurried 
through  the  silent  aisles  and  glades  the  persistent  question 
still  kept  pace  with  her.  What  was  it  that  was  so  urging 
her,  so  driving  her?  Was  it,  as  it  seemed,  some  resistless 
law  that  she  was  obeying,  fulfilling  ?  Was  she,  as  the  apple 
that  grows,  ripening  on  the  bough,  and  which,  at  the  appointed 
moment,  in  obedience  to  the  law,  has  to  fall,  called  by  the 
force  of  gravity  down  to  the  receiving  ground  ?  How  that 
mighty  law,  absolutely  resistless,  works  on  mysteriously, 
unseen,  unheard,  silently:  its  existence  unrecognised  except 
in  its  results,  yet  governing  everything.  What  is  the  apple 
after  all?  What  can  it  do?  By  one  law  it  takes  its  being 
and  grows;  by  another  it  ripens  slowly  on  its  bough,  its 
fibres  weaken,  it  becomes  heavy  with  dew  and  sap,  its  stalk 
gives  way:  by  another  law  it  falls.  Called  to  the  earth  by 
gravity,  to  the  earth  it  goes.  Strong  as  the  all-governing 
force  or  gravity  seemed  the  physical  force  now  acting  upon 
her,  drawing  upon  all  the  fibres,  all  the  molecules  of  her 
body,  drawing  them  forward,  against  the  will  of  her  brain. 

How  different  this  fighting,  struggling,  tearing  passion 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  239 

was  from  her  early  love  for  Bernard!  How  clear  and  inno- 
cent that  had  been,  what  real,  unshaded  happiness  that 
had  given  her!  How  light  had  been  her  singing  heart! 
Looking  back,  how  fittingly  it  had  been  ushered  in,  that 
love  of  her  sixteenth  spring!  It  was  all  mingled  in  her 
mind  with  those  soft,  sunny  blue  skies  and  snow-white 
almond  blossoms,  and  the  dewy  stillness  of  rose-scented 
lanes.  How  glad  she  had  been  when  she  first  realised  the 
greatest  of  Life's  gifts  was  hers.  How  freely,  joyously  she 
had  accepted  it.  What  happiness  she  had  found  in  Bernard's 
kiss,  in  his  embrace!  It  had  all  been  one  clear,  joyous 
harmony,  like  a  melody  played  on  one  or  two  sweet  silver 
strings.  But  it  had  gone,  passed  like  the  sixteenth  year 
itself,  and  there  could  never  again  be  anything  of  that  nature 
or  kind  for  her.  Different  emotions,  different  desires  had 
developed  in  her,  different  appetites,  different  capabilities. 
The  instrument  itself  had  so  changed,  so  many  new  strings 
had  been  added,  and  now  it  was  so  differently  tuned  that 
never  again  could  that  simple  Arcadian  melody  be  heard 
from  it.  And  it  was  curious,  she  thought  dully — for  her 
brain  was  beginning  to  grow  heavy  with  long  repetition 
of  painful  thought — how  the  setting  of  this  second  passion 
had  been  so  different  from  that  of  the  first,  portentous, 
as  it  were,  of  the  passion  itself.  That  oppressive,  awful 
grandeur  of  the  Chain,  that  snowy  stillness  and  repose  of 
Nature,  broken  by  their  savage,  blood-red  fires,  and  the 
rising  of  that  stained  and  sickly  moon  that  gave  them  no 
light,  only  seemed  to  threaten  them,  lowering  and  sanguinous, 
from  out  of  the  turbulent,  billowy  sky. 

Suddenly  something  caught  her  heavy  eyes.  Before 
her  glowed  the  red  of  a  camp  fire :  the  dull,  still  red  of  a 
fire  burnt  down.  In  the  circle  of  illuminated  dusk  round 
it  she  looked  mechanically  for  the  white  tent  she  expected. 
But  there  was  no  tent;  to  a  shrub,  not  far  from  the  fire,  two 
horses  were  tethered.  They  were  saddled  and  weighted, 
in  addition,  with  many  bundles:  the  ground  round  the  fire 
was  cleared  up:  some  black  holes  gaped  in  it,  whence  tent 


240  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

poles  and  tent  pegs  had  been  withdrawn.  It  had  been,  but 
was  no  longer,  Pelham's  camp.  This  was  her  destination, 
and  the  power  that  had  been  urging  on  her  feet  now  left 
them.  The  horror  that  had  been  striving  with  that  power 
was  still  clinging  to  her.  She  stared  with  wild  eyes  and 
light,  swimming  brain  at  the  camping  ground:  then  turned 
from  it,  and  would  have  fled  back  towards  the  misty,  white- 
lighted  aisles  behind  her,  but  a  slim,  straight  figure  barred 
her  path. 

"You  have  come  at  last,  darling:  I  have  been  ready  so 
long.  I  was  getting  dreadfully  impatient." 

Lydia  looked  up.  She  saw  Pelham's  face  above  her  and 
the  long  green  misty  aisles  behind. 

"Did  you  expect  me  then?"  she  muttered. 

"Of  course.  I  thought  you'd  be  here  long  before.  I 
should  have  come  after  you  but  was  afraid  we  should  miss 
in  the  wood.  Let  us  start  at  once." 

His  voice  was  very  soft  and  gentle,  and  the  sound  of  it 
seemed  to  flow  over  her  with  a  lulling,  soothing  effect,  as 
warm  water  flows  over  aching  limbs  and  strained  muscles, 
lulling  and  soothing  them.  Her  presence  was  so  absolutely 
taken  for  granted.  Everything  was  so  simple  and  natural: 
she  was  here:  she  was  to  remain:  it  seemed  only  unnatural, 
complicated,  difficult,  impossible,  to  go  back  now.  She 
remembered  suddenly  her  wedding  night.  Everything  had 
seemed  so  easy,  so  simple,  so  natural,  all  in  order.  She  had 
put  her  hand  in  the  hand  of  her  destiny  then.  Now  it  was 
the  same  thing  again.  She  put  her  hand  into  the  hand  of 
her  new  Fate,  and  all  was  at  once  simple  and  easy.  It  was 
only  when  she  was  struggling  wildly  to  act  for  herself,  to  be 
free,  that  she  suffered  so  terribly  as  she  had  just  now. 

Pelham  was  leading  her  to  where  the  horses  stood  tethered. 
He  unfastened  one  and  lifted  her  up  bodily  upon  it  into  the 
saddle.  He  put  the  reins  into  her  hands.  She  looked 
down  into  the  noble,  grave  and  beautifully-carved  face,  and 
all  rebellion  of  herself  against  herself  died  away.  She  gathered 
the  reins  into  her  hands  and  sat  upright,  looking  forward  into 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  241 

the  gloom  of  the  thick,  silent  forest  before  them.  The  inner 
revolt  had  ceased :  only  in  her  heart  she  felt  as  if  there  was 
a  great  rent.  In  that  deep,  bleeding  gash,  which  in  a  nature 
like  hers  must  bleed  for  ever,  were  thrown  her  love  for 
Bernard  and  her  child,  her  attachment  to  and  memory  of 
her  former  life.  It  was  their  grave. 

Pelham  had  mounted.  They  were  sitting  now  side  by 
side  on  their  horses.  The  camp  fire  had  burned  lower  and 
lower:  the  red  glow  only  reached  the  hoofs  of  their  horses: 
above  the  camping-place  rose  the  dark  shadow  of  the  trees, 
and  above,  again,  the  clear  violet  sky. 

"Follow  the  line  of  the  stream,"  Pelham  said,  and  the 
impatient  horses  broke  into  a  flying  canter  over  the  easy 
ground,  down  one  of  the  dim  endless  aisles  before  them. 
The  air  was  cool  and  soft  as  it  struck  their  faces,  and  the 
horses'  hoofs  fell  soundless  on  the  mossy  turfy  ground.  On 
and  on,  silently,  they  cantered,  defile  after  defile  of  glorious 
straight  lofty  firs  ever  opening  before  them,  as  mile  after 
mile  lay  behind.  To  Lydia,  in  her  curious  dream-like  con- 
dition, the  motion  seemed  as  of  enchantment.  The  easy 
swing  of  the  horse  beneath  her  moved  her  body  no  more  in 
the  saddle  than  one  moves  in  a  rocking-chair.  The  endless 
lines  of  trees  flying  by  as  she  went,  ever  forward,  with  this 
swift,  motionless  motion,  the  soft,  dim,  unearthly  light,  and 
the  great  silence,  working  on  her  strained,  excited  system, 
that  had  known  neither  food  nor  sleep  for  twenty-four  hours, 
produced  a  sense  of  unreality,  of  ethereal  freedom  from  the 
body,  a  sensation  of  being  only  a  spirit  moving  in  a  dream. 
The  moon  sank  slowly  in  the  sky  behind  them,  but,  as  its 
rays  grew  shorter  and  paler,  another  light  began  growing  in 
the  east,  and  as  the  moon  finally  sank  below  the  horizon, 
great  ribs  of  glowing  pink  began  to  stand  out  in  the  pearly 
morning  sky.  The  light,  the  first  sweet,  gentle  light,  began 
to  steal  about  amongst  the  gigantic  tree  trunks,  and  into  the 
deep  green  recesses,  with  its  renewed  promise  of  another  day, 
and  in  this  white  light  of  dawn  Pelham  looked  at  his  com- 
panion. The  girl  rode  on  beside  him :  her  face  was  bloodless: 
16 


242  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

the  lips  compressed  into  a  thin,  colourless  line,  and  over  the 
large  dark  eyes,  that  stared  before  her  as  if  into  the  future 
the  brows  were  drawn  closely  together  into  a  straight  dark 
line  of  pain.  Never  had  the  face  looked  so  impressively 
beautiful  as  at  this  moment,  and  to  Pelham  came  that  rush 
of  mad  idolatry  of  his  possession,  that  worship  that  is  not 
wholly  ignoble,  which  unhappily  only  beauty,  the  least 
worthy  of  all  human  things,  is  able  to  inspire.  He  slackened 
his  speed  gently,  then  reined  in.  Her  horse,  without  guidance, 
followed  the  example  of  its  fellow,  and  stopped  still  also. 
They  had  come  through  the  thickest  part  of  the  wood  and 
were  now  in  an  open  glade.  The  grass  was  short  and 
thick,  some  young  trees  stood  round,  and  at  one  side  flowed 
a  narrow  stream  to  which  the  brilliant  blue  jays  were  akeady 
directing  their  radiant  flight. 

"We  have  gone  far  enough:  we'll  stop  and  make  a 
camp  here,  and  get  some  breakfast,"  Pelham  said  quietly. 

He  jumped  from  his  horse  and  came  to  hers  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  take  her  from  the  saddle.  Mechanically 
she  loosed  hold  of  the  reins  and  turned  towards  him.  He 
looked  up  into  her  eyes,  and  as  their  glance  met  the  lignt 
went  out  of  her  face  and  she  fell  forward  into  his  arms, 
unconscious 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  open  window  of  the  room  which  looked  out  on  the  main 
street  of  Oaxaca  was  protected  by  upright  iron  bars,  only 
eight  inches  apart,  solid,  immovable,  as  the  bars  of  a  prison. 
Within,  her  face  pressed  against  these  bars,  and  her  eyes 
straining  out  into  the  thick  darkness  of  the  tropical  night, 
sat  Lydia,  huddled  close  against  the  window.  It  was  past 
midnight,  but  on  the  heavy,  suffocating  air  came  floating 
gently  the  ceaseless  throbbing  of  the  band  in  the  Plaza,  play- 
ing its  wild  Mexican  music.  In  the  Plaza,  that  is  where 
she  longed  to  be,  walking  slowly  under  those  glorious  grape- 
fruit trees,  that  were  standing  in  the  dark  heat  of  the  night, 
their  drooping  branches  weighed  down  with  their  great 
golden  globes  of  fruit,  that  are  such  a  dazzling  wonder  to 
the  beholder.  Modelled  like  an  orange,  only  of  colossal 
proportions,  five  times  the  size  of  an  orange,  and  gold  as  a 
ripe  lemon  in  the  light,  the  fruit  hangs  in  gorgeous  clusters 
between  its  dark,  glossy  leaves. 

Walking  round  the  Plaza,  in  the  afternoon,  with  Eustace, 
this  fruit  had  caught  the  girl's  eye,  so  sensitive  to  beauty. 
Seen  for  the  first  time  and  in  its  full  perfection  of  loveliness 
in  the  fierce  heat  and  light  of  the  Mexican  noon,  they  had 
impressed  her  deeply,  and  for  all  her  life  after  she  could 
easily  conjure  up,  before  closed  eyes,  those  wonderful,  stately 
trees,  weighed  down  with  colossal  golden  globes.  But 
Eustace  had  not  shared  her  enthusiasm:  forty-three  is  less 
easily  consoled  by  beauty  in  its  surroundings  than  twenty- 
three.  And  there  was  much  he  felt  he  needed  consolation 
for.  He  was  suffering  from  nervous  fatigue,  which  took  all 
the  spring  out  of  his  limbs  and  muscles,  and  robbed  him  of 

243 


244  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

all  power  to  enjoy.  The  life  he  had  been  leading  for  the 
past  weeks,  in  the  small  and  poor  posadas,  or  Mexican  inns 
— the  only  ones  the  country  afforded — was  extremely  uncom- 
fortable, and  without  the  excitement  of  any  sport,  seemed 
unbearable;  moreover,  with  regard  to  the  woman  beside 
him,  an  intense  reaction  had  set  in,  and  so  far  from  giving 
him  any  pleasure,  her  presence  near  him  filled  him  with 
annoyance  and  irritation.  He  felt,  too,  she  was  so  abomin- 
ably fond  of  him,  that  she  would  probably  want  to  stay  with 
him,  and  that  irritated  him  all  the  more.  He  had  coveted 
her  possession  intensely,  but,  now  that  she  was  entirely  his, 
he  felt  none  of  the  joy  of  possession,  and  hated  her  for  his 
disappointment,  for  the  failure,  within  himself,  of  his  own 
desire.  She  had  now  become  dependent  on  him,  and  man 
generally  shows  to  better  advantage  in  his  conduct  to  those 
above  him  than  below  him.  With  how  few  natures  is  it  the 
rule  to  treat  those  helpless  and  dependent  on  them  well! 
Man's  attitude  to  the  animals  is  one  of  cruel  oppression, 
because  they  are  helpless  and  dependent,  and  whenever  a 
woman  drifts  into  the  position  of  an  animal,  namely  of  help- 
less dependence  upon  a  man,  she  too  has  to  bear  his  brutality. 
The  thought  that  this  woman  cared  for  him  so  much  that  he 
might  have  some  difficulty  in  decently  getting  rid  of  her, 
annoyed  him.  It  would  have  been  well  if  he  could  have 
known  how  needless  his  anxiety  was,  how  infinitely  short- 
lived is  that  first  exquisite  adoring  passion  which  a  woman 
brings  to  a  man.  For  the  moment  she  loved  him  so  much, 
and,  in  consequence,  was  so  submissive  to  his  every  wish,  that 
she  irritated  him.  The  more  irritated  he  grew  and  the 
more  harsh  and  brutal  in  his  manner,  with  that  refined 
brutality  that  in  the  higher  class  takes  the  place  of  the  plate- 
throwing  and  kicking  of  the  lower  one,  the  more  gentle  and 
tender,  the  more  anxious  to  please,  she  became,  without 
realising  it  was  resistance,  not  submission,  he  desired.  He 
was  by  nature,  essentially,  a  hunter.  That  which  was  free, 
untamed,  independent,  strong,  attracted  him;  to  pursue,  to 
capture,  to  tame,  to  weaken,  to  break  was  to  him  a  pleasure : 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  245 

and  the  pleasure  lay  in  the  doing  it:  when  it  was  done  the 
tamed  and  captured  thing  had  no  further  interest  nor  at- 
traction for  him.  Lydia,  as  he  had  seen  her  first,  the  property 
of  another  and  entirely  independent  of  himself,  gay,  bright 
and  strong,  careless  and  free,  in  her  radiant  youth  and 
beauty,  had  a  violent,  irresistible  attraction  for  him.  He 
had  had  to  conquer  her,  and  the  excitement  of  the  struggle 
had  been  a  passionate  delight  to  him.  He  could  not  realise 
beforehand  that  her  resistance,  once  conquered,  would 
change  to  complete  compliance,  and  she,  on  her  side,  could 
not  understand  that  herself,  so  determinedly  stolen,  at  such 
risk  and  cost,  once  acquired,  would  become  valueless.  She 
was  no  more  to  him,  then,  in  that  first  terrible  reaction  after 
the  joy  of  the  fight,  than  the  shot  quail  he  stuffed,  with 
broken  wings,  into  the  pockets  of  his  shooting  coat:  quail 
that,  soaring  free  and  powerful  against  the  blue  sky,  he  had 
followed,  fasting  and  thirsting,  with  eager  enthusiasm  and 
tireless  feet.  So  now,  with  little  interest  in  his  companion, 
with  no  shooting,  and  no  society,  and  an  extremely  uncom- 
fortable daily  existence,  in  which  his  health  and  strength 
steadily  declined,  Eustace  pitied  himself  deeply,  yet  gained  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  having  someone  near  whom  he  could 
make  more  unhappy  than  he  was  himself,  and  to  whom  he 
could  be  persistently  and  savagely  disagreeable.  Lydia, 
absolutely  bewildered  by  this  treatment  of  her,  resented 
nothing  outwardly,  and  only  marvelled  at  it  inwardly.  Ber- 
nard had  been  the  embodiment  of  good  health  and  good 
temper.  She  had  had  no  experience  of  a  man  who  had  bad 
health  and  bad  temper.  Bernard  and  she  had  made  happi- 
ness out  of  nothing:  or  rather,  out  of  each  other:  they  had 
had  no  luxurious  setting  to  help  their  love:  poverty,  hard 
work,  hard  life,  how  they  had  laughed  over  it  all  together, 
and  got  sunshine  out  of  it !  and  now  this  man,  with  his  wealth, 
and  the  power  of  it  at  his  command,  contrived  to  shed  round 
them,  and  through  their  relationship,  gloom  and  discomfort. 
She  did  so  want  to  be  happy — the  great  wish  of  youth.  She 
longed  for  happiness,  and  it  seemed  so  near  her,  all  round 


246  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

her,  yet  she  could  not  grasp  it.  It  eluded  her,  mocked  her. 
Here,  in  this  beautiful  tropical  corner  of  the  earth,  it  seemed 
to  smile  upon  her  from  the  azure  sky,  dance  in  the  sunlight, 
sway  in  the  palms  as  they  waved  against  the  gold  sunsets, 
speak  to  her  in  the  songs  of  the  birds,  in  the  throb  of  the 
constant  music,  yet  it  was  not  hers.  At  no  time  in  her  life 
had  her  eyes  known  such  continual  tears,  never  had  she 
been  so  wretched,  as  in  these  first  months  after  her  new 
purchase  in  Life's  shop.  Eustace  had  looked  charming, 
perfect,  in  the  window,  behind  that  magic  crystal  pane  of  the 
Unexperienced,  that  is  its  plate  glass,  and  she  had  bought 
him  at  a  great  price,  and  with  him  terrible  disappointment, 
humiliation,  self-reproach  and  tears!  She  thought  him  hard, 
harsh,  brutal  and  unkind.  She  was  amazed  at  the  change 
in  him  and  dismayed  at  the  step  which  she  had  taken,  and 
that  had  put  her  in  his  power.  But  in  spite  of  this,  and  the 
mental  loathing  of  so  cruel  a  character  creeping  over  her, 
the  fire  of  passion,  once  so  subtly,  so  dexterously,  kindled, 
could  not  be  immediately  extinguished.  She  loved  him 
wildly,  and  miserable  though  he  made  her  on  every  oppor- 
tunity, it  was  a  sort  of  fiercely  happy  misery  that  she  suffered 
since  she  was  near  him,  and  his  physical  presence,  that  had 
become  so  much  to  her,  was  about  her.  Her  passion  flamed 
up  with  a  great  leaping  flare  of  a  wood  fire  to  which  no  more 
wood  is  given.  It  must  die  down  at  last  from  want  of  food, 
but  for  a  time  it  leaps  hungrily  and  desperately  from  its 
consumed  logs,  seeking  more:  all  the  brighter  it  glows  be- 
cause no  fresh  fuel  is  added.  Feeling  this  within  her,  and 
knowing  instinctively  how  short  a  life  so  fierce  a  flame  must 
have,  she  longed  for  Eustace  to  recognise  it  then,  to  delight 
in  it,  to  accept  it,  instead  of  repelling  it.  "Perhaps  some 
time  he  will  long  for  this  very  passion  from  me,"  she  thought 
at  nights,  in  the  lonely  room  of  some  ghastly  old  inn  where 
they  might  be  stopping,  "ask  for  it,  and  I  shall  not  be  able 
to  give  it,"  and  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  night  when 
she  had  begged  and  prayed  Bernard  to  take  her  out  West 
with  him  in  the  first  fire  of  her  love.  Had  he  done  so  then, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  247 

she  thought,  she  would  never  have  read  and  studied,  never 
have  educated  herself  mentally,  as  she  had  unconsciously 
done,  for  a  man  like  Eustace,  and  probably  never  have 
succumbed  to  his  influence  when  he  came  into  her  life. 
Besides,  deep  in  her  heart,  she  knew  she  had  never  forgiven 
Bernard  for  refusing  to  take  her  then,  and  that  had  helped 
to  justify  her,  in  her  own  eyes,  for  leaving  him.  Similarly 
she  would  never  be  able  to  forgive  Eustace  for  his  cruelty 
to  her  now.  Still,  for  the  present,  cruel  or  kind,  the  fas- 
cination of  this  man's  personality  for  her,  the  boundless  in- 
fluence he  possessed  over  her,  remained.  And,  short  as 
those  few  first  weeks  had  been,  spent  in  the  forest  camps 
with  him,  while  the  delight  of  his  victory  lasted,  she  could  not 
forget  them.  They  hung  in  her  memory,  pictures  framed  in 
fire.  The  remembrance  of  their  wild  passion  and  pleasure 
could  never  be  obliterated  except  with  life  itself. 

She  sat  crushed  against  the  bars  of  the  window,  looking 
out  with  dry,  staring  eyes:  she  was  too  tired  to  cry.  A 
mental  weariness  of  tears  possessed  her.  She  sat  silent  and 
motionless,  thinking  how  strange  it  was  that  so  little  now 
would  have  made  her  happy,  and  that  little  was  denied  her. 
The  whole  framework  of  happiness  was  here:  she  herself 
brought  in  her  hands  those  e'ements  from  which,  generally, 
happiness  takes  its  being,  youth  and  beauty,  superb  and 
perfect  health,  and  that  ardent  desire,  that  capacity  for 
enjoyment,  without  which  no  other  gift  avails,  and,  in  addi- 
tion to  this,  the  place,  the  climate,  the  beauty  of  every  scene 
they  passed  through  made  the  most  perfect  frame  for  human 
joy  that  could  exist  anywhere.  Moreover,  Pelham  himself 
was  singularly  endowed  with  everything  that  could  give 
the  extreme  of  pleasure  to  any  woman,  and  particularly  to 
one  like  herself.  It  had  seemed  to  Lydia,  in  those  wonderful 
first  days,  that  she  lived  by  enchantment,  so  great  was  the 
magic  charm  that  his  face,  his  voice,  his  manner  and  whole 
bearing  exercised  upon  her.  He  had  only  to  smile  to  make 
her  feel  happy,  only  to  kiss  her  to  lift  her  into  heaven  itself. 
Besides  this  personal  charm,  the  superiority  of  his  rank  to 


248  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

hers,  the  knowledge  of  that  long  life  behind  him,  much  of 
it  lived  before  she  was  even  born,  and  of  which  she  knew 
nothing,  his  countless  experiences — for  the  life  of  the  rich  is 
infinitely  more  varied  than  that  of  the  poor — his  knowledge, 
for  she  soon  made  him  talk  to  her  of  books,  and  delighted 
in  hearing  him  quote  and  explain  Greek  and  Latin  phrases 
to  her,  all  threw  a  glamour  of  mystery  over  him,  and  inten- 
sified her  passion  by  appealing  to  it  through  the  brain.  He 
was  to  her  deeply  interesting,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  found  herself  with  a  mental  companion.  Her  soul 
flew  out  to  him  joyfully,  as  a  bird  to  its  mate,  and  in  those 
tent  hours  she  had  been  deeply,  wonderfully  happy. 

"  Why  does  he  make  himself  so  hateful  ?  Why  is  he  so 
cruel  and  unkind?  I  can't  think,"  she  meditated  now, 
with  the  seductive  low  throbbing  of  the  music  coming  to  her 
ears,  and  the  wonderful  heavy  fragrance  of  the  orange  flowers 
pressing  on  her  senses.  She  glanced  up:  the  sky  hung, 
jewelled  with  its  innumerable  stars,  above  her,  a  faint  breath 
passed  through  the  soft,  dark-scented  air. 

"So  lovely,  everything  so  lovely,  and  he  spoils  it  all!" 
and  she  thought  passionately  of  the  lovers  who  now,  with 
linked  arms,  were  walking  round  the  Plaza,  feeling  all  the 
beauty  round  them  a  thousand  times  intensified  by  the 
presence  of  each  other.  Passing  at  the  moment  was  a  young 
Mexican :  their  eyes  met  across  the  bars.  Involuntarily  his 
feet  slackened  as  he  saw  her,  and  his  eyes  took  in  her  lovely 
blooming  face,  and  the  delicate  pink  silk  of  her  bodice  pressed 
against  the  old  iron  of  the  window.  His  face  showed  a  pale 
oval  in  the  darkness,  his  eyes  were  dark  and  full  of  fire:  in 
them  she  saw  all  the  pleasure,  attraction  and  admiration 
she  felt  was  her  due:  for  one  moment,  in  her  wild  resent- 
ment at  the  treatment  she  received  from  the  man  for  whom 
she  had  done  so  much,  the  thought  came,  "  Why  not  go  to 
the  Plaza  with  him?"  She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  into 
the  room  behind  her,  full  of  its  oppressive  quiet,  and  at  the 
bed  where  Eustace  lay  sleeping,  silently  and  profoundly, 
the  whole  length  of  his  figure  distinctly  outlined  as  he  lay 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  249 

on  his  side  under  the  thin  white  covering.  The  door  of  the 
room  was  close  to  the  door  of  the  house :  she  had  but  to  open 
hers,  step  across  the  passage,  and  pass  through  the  house 
door  to  the  street.  The  man  outside  lingered,  feeling  her 
hesitation. 

"Alone  and  so  beautiful,"  she  heard  him  murmur,  and 
the  words  maddened  her. 

All  the  windows  facing  the  street  and  on  the  ground  floor 
are  barred,  and  it  is  the  Mexican  custom  for  the  young 
unmarried  girls  to  sit  behind  them  on  fine  summer  nights, 
while  their  admirers,  or  even  their  recognised  fiances,  stand 
without,  conversing,  playing  a  serenade,  or  sometimes 
merely  exchanging  love's  silent  looks  with  them.  The 
man  lingered.  He  could  see  into  the  lighted  room  beyond 
her:  see  her  little  narrow  bed  against  the  farther  wall,  but 
he  could  not  see  the  corner  where  Eustace  lay  sleeping,  his 
bed  pressed  against  the  near  wall,  and  fancied  she  was  alone. 
The  music  invited  her:  she  was  wide  awake,  it  was  past 
midnight,  but  she  did  not  feel  sleepy.  She  longed  for  amuse- 
ment: in  the  young  Mexican's  face  she  saw  that  dear  look 
of  tender  admiration  that  is  the  due  of  young  and  pretty 
women,  and  makes  the  world  seem  bright  to  them.  She 
was  so  weary  of  the  gloomy  discontent  with  which  Pelham's 
eyes  usually  rested  on  her. 

"Come  to  the  Plaza,  sefiorita,"  said  the  man,  softly. 
"The  music  is  not  nearly  finished  yet.  We  will  take  one 
or  two  turns  together.  I  will  bring  you  safely  back.  Your 
father  will  never  know." 

"My  father?"  repeated  Lydia,  amused  at  his  mistake. 
"How  do  you  know  I  have  a  father?" 

"I  saw  you  in  the  Plaza  with  him  to-day,"  murmured 
back  the  man;  "but  it  looks  better  at  night.  Come,  sefio- 
rita, I  will  protect  you." 

Lydia  glanced  back  into  the  room.  Eustace  slept  on 
tranquilly  as  usual.  It  was  hard,  with  the  blood  beating 
high  in  her  veins,  to  say  no,  to  stay,  and  she  felt  she  would 
get  no  thanks  for  doing  so.  Still,  to  go  out  thus,  at  this 


250  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

hour,  would  be  a  serious  step,  and  she  loved  Eustace  at 
present  so  much  she  would  not  risk  giving  him  ground  to 
find  fault  with  her.  Mad  as  she  felt,  like  any  wild  im- 
prisoned thing,  she  would  not  yield  to  the  temptation.  She 
shook  her  head. 

"No,  I  cannot.  Do  not  stay  here,  it  is  useless,"  and  she 
rose  from  the  window,  stepped  back  to  the  centre  table, 
extinguished  the  lamp,  and  flung  herself,  in  the  darkness, 
on  her  bed.  She  heard  the  man  at  the  window  still  cajoling, 
imploring,  entreating,  in  murmured  words,  but  she  did  not 
move  nor  speak,  and  in  a  little  while  she  heard  his  feet  move 
onward  down  the  stone-paved  street.  Then  there  was  silence, 
broken  at  intervals  by  a  soft  faint  gust  of  the  distant  music 
blown  in  on  orange-scented  air  through  the  open  window. 

She  lay  there;  across  the  room  she  could  see  the  great 
planets  burn  and  flash  in  the  soft,  dark  sky  between  the  bars. 

"What  a  pity,  .what  a  pity,"  she  thought.  "We  might 
be  so  happy,  if  only  Eustace  wanted  to  take  me  to  the  Plaza 
as  much  as  that  man  does;  or  if  we  could  sleep  happily  in 
each  other's  arms,  under  those  stars.  What  on  earth  did 
he  take  me  from  Bernard  for  if  he  did  not  want  me  ?" 

She  lay  there,  every  pulse  in  her  body  bounding,  and 
sleep  far  from  her  eyes. 

"It's  only  what  I  deserve,"  she  thought.  "I  made  Bernard 
miserable  by  leaving  him,  and  I'm  thoroughly  miserable 
myself.  I  am  a  splendid  example  for  the  moralist." 
*  She  thought  of  Bernard  and  longed  to  have  his  arms 
about  her,  in  her  desolate  state  of  feeling.  The  question 
even  came,  "Could  she  go  back?"  But  she  knew,  in  Me, 
there  is  no  returning,  and  besides,  with  her  passion  for 
Eustace  still  in  her  veins,  she  preferred  her  present  fierce 
misery  with  him  to  tranquil  life  without  him. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  the  time  fixed  for  their  rising, 
before  the  wretched  girl  fell  asleep,  and  at  ten  minutes  past, 
Pelham,  who  had  been  comfortably  sleeping  since  the 
previous  evening,  came  over  and  woke  her,  feeling  fresh 
and  alert  enough  himself. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  251 

"Do  get  up,"  he  said  crossly,  as  she  opened  her  tired 
eyes,  with  a  sigh.  "You  are  always  behind  because  you 
won't  get  up  when  I  do." 

Lydia  sat  up  and  looked  round:  she  was  deadly  tired, 
and  a  splitting,  tearing  pain  on  being  awakened  just  when 
she  had  sunk  to  sleep,  from  exhaustion,  began  to  rend  her 
temples.  She  felt  she  could  not  get  up  then,  could  not  face 
the  day  of  rough  travel  before  them.  She  sighed  again 
helplessly:  she  was  dazed:  her  face  was  quite  white,  and 
her  skin  and  eyes  had  a  dried,  burnt-up  look,  wholly  foreign 
to  her  usual  bloom.  Virtue  is  not  always  even  its  own 
reward.  Had  she  yielded  to  her  wishes  and  gone  the  previous 
night  to  the  Plaza  with  the  young  Mexican,  the  physical 
exercise  in  the  cool  air,  the  outlet  to  her  spirits  would  probably 
have  resulted  in  her  getting  afterwards  some  hours  of  tranquil 
and  refreshing  sleep,  and  this  morning  she  would  have  been 
brighter  and  far  more  attractive  to  look  at  than  now. 

She  said  nothing,  but  rose  and  began  to  dress  in  silence; 
the  pain,  however,  in  her  head  was  so  intense  that  as  she 
stooped  to  find  her  shoes  she  felt  suddenly  faint  and  sat 
down  on  the  bed  for  support. 

"Eustace,  would  you  mind  very  much  waiting  here  one 
day  and  going  on  to-morrow?  I  have  such  a  headache. 
I  could  not  sleep  last  night." 

"Why  do  you  sit  up  half  the  night  ?"  he  answered,  in  an 
annoyed  tone.  "Of  course  you're  not  ready  to  get  up  in 
reasonable  time  the  next  morning." 

"I  did  go  to  bed,"  she  answered,  "but  I  could  not  sleep. 
You  always  sleep  so  well  you  don't  understand  what  sleep- 
lessness  is." 

"You  would  sleep  if  you  got  up  earlier,"  he  rejoined 
sharply,  opening  his  razor. 

"Well,  I  was  up  at  five  yesterday  morning:  I  don't  see 
that  one  could  get  up  much  earlier  than  that." 

Eustace  crossed  the  room  towards  her  with  a  quick, 
savage  step.  "Don't  argue  with  me,"  he  exclaimed  furi- 
ously. She  glanced  up  from  where  she  was  sitting  on  the  floor, 


252  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

putting  on  her  stockings,  and  saw  he  was  white  with  anger, 
and  his  eyes  alight.  He  had  the  open  razor  in  his  hand, 
and  for  one  moment  she  expected  him  to  strike  her  with  it. 
Many  women  would  have  cowered  before  him  in  that  moment, 
but  she  felt  no  pulse  of  fear  and  therefore  showed  none. 
She  stared  him  full  in  the  face  with  her  great  eyes,  sitting 
motionless  where  she  was,  surprise  being  her  first  feeling: 
then  slowly  mounted  in  her  blood  the  spirit  of  combat,  as  in 
all  brave  animals  when  attacked.  So  they  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  moment,  then  Eustace  turned  away.  Though 
he  was  not  conscious  of  it  himself,  he  liked  her  dauntless 
look  and  attitude,  and  her  absolute  silence  appeased  his 
irritation. 

"I  am  going  on  to-day,"  he  said,  crossing  back  to  the 
glass.  "You  can  stay  behind  if  you  like,  alone." 

Lydia,  on  the  floor,  gave  her  shoulders  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible shrug  as  she  drew  on  her  stocking. 

"What  a  brute  he  is!"  she  thought  to  herself.  "Argue 
with  him!  If  one  simply  replies  to  a  remark  of  his  it's 
arguing!"  Still,  Eustace  had  looked  exceedingly  hand- 
some in  that  white  heat  of  anger,  with  the  light  blazing  in 
his  blue-green  eyes,  and  she  felt  a  certain  soft  sense  of  aesthetic 
satisfaction.  They  finished  their  dressing  in  the  most  pro- 
found silence,  and  then  the  girl  sank  into  a  chair  to  await 
their  breakfast,  exhausted.  The  pain  in  her  head  was 
agonising.  When  the  breakfast  came  in  she  drank  her 
coffee  eagerly,  and  it  made  the  headache  somewhat  better, 
but  she  still  looked  deadly  white  and  ill. 

Pelham  noticed  it,  but  so  far  from  its  exciting  any  sym- 
pathy it  irritated  him  against  her,  and  he  had  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  in  thinking  of  the  hard  day's  travel  before  her, 
for  which  he  saw  she  was  quite  unfit.  In  the  Mexican 
country  places  there  is,  according  to  English  ideas,  no  food 
fit  to  eat:  the  coffee,  so  called,  supplied  by  the  inns,  is  not 
real  coffee,  but  a  cheap  black  bean,  which  gives  a  liquid 
thin  and  black,  with  a  flavour  not  unlike  poor,  burnt,  very 
weak  coffee;  the  milk,  from  the  scarcity  of  pasture,  is  ex- 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  253 

tremely  thin  and  watery,  the  eggs  are  small  and  flavourless; 
the  butter  poor;  the  bread  only  represented  by  small,  tough, 
heavy  buns.  So  that  the  breakfast  put  before  them  was  not 
an  inspiring  meal,  and  had  the  effect  of  increasing  Pelham's 
bad  temper.  Lydia  ate  hers  in  silence,  and,  afterwards, 
packed  all  her  small  luggage,  without  any  further  com- 
plaint or  appeal,  and  when  she  had  finished  sat  down  by 
the  window  to  look  out.  Pelham  was  not  ready,  and  the 
wagon  to  take  them  further  on  south  stood  waiting  at  the 
door,  for  they  had  left  the  rail  behind.  He  was  in  and  out 
of  the  room  several  times,  and  at  last  she  heard  an  im- 
patient call  from  the  hall,  and  went  to  join  him.  Their 
luggage  was  all  on  the  roof  of  the  wagon,  and  Eustace  stood 
at  the  door. 

"Do  come,"  he  said  angrily.  "I  do  wish  you  would 
not  always  keep  me  waiting  but  be  ready  in  good  time." 

Lydia  did  not  answer  at  all.  She  was  accustomed  to 
these  unjust  accusations  and  knew  that  she  would  only  be 
told  she  was  arguing  if  she  pointed  out  that  she  had  been 
sitting  perfectly  ready  for  the  last  twenty  minutes.  She 
walked  forward  and  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage,  the  spell 
of  the  beautiful  morning  falling  gently  over  her.  The 
sparkling  brightness  of  the  sunny  crystal  air,  the  glad  notes 
of  the  birds,  the  cloudless  Mexican  sky,  spoke  to  her  and 
enchanted  her,  in  spite  of  her  pain  and  fatigue.  She  was 
so  eagerly  anxious  to  enjoy  life  that  she  tried  hard  to  extract 
all  the  joy  she  could  from  each  passing  moment,  in  spite  of 
Pelham  who  did  his  utmost  to  spoil  it.  He  flung  himself 
beside  her  now,  shut  the  door,  and  they  started,  leaving  the 
landlady  bowing  in  the  stone  arched  doorway  of  the  pictur- 
esque little  inn  in  the  narrow  winding  street.  The  road  to 
Mitla  is  the  steep  and  stony  bed  of  a  watercourse,  some- 
times of  a  raging  torrent.  Just  now  there  was  little  water  in 
it,  and  provided,  as  the  driver  thought,  an  excellent  road 
for  them.  His  team  consisted  of  three  mules  abreast,  with 
two  horses  beyond  them  as  leaders,  and  these  he  whipped 
up  to  their  fastest  pace.  The  wagon  wheels  were  entirely 


254  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

without  springs,  but  strong,  and,  driven  hard  against  the 
huge  boulders  in  the  stream,  jumped  gaily  over  them,  while 
the  vehicle  rocked  and  swayed  from  side  to  side.  Lydia  and 
Pelham  within  were  thrown  helplessly  about  like  dice  in 
a  box,  their  heads  striking  heavily  the  wagon  roof,  constantly, 
as  the  wheels  made  their  flying  bounds  over  stone  and  rock. 
At  any  other  time  Lydia  would  have  thought  it  rather  fun, 
but  to-day  the  motion  made  the  pain  in  her  head  blinding 
nearly  intolerable.  As  the  day  progressed  the  heat  grew 
intense,  and  still  in  obedience  to  the  oaths  and  objurgations 
of  the  driver  the  little  mules  and  ponies  pulled  on  the  flying, 
bounding  coach.  The  two  people  inside  were  very  silent. 
Lydia  essayed  a  few  remarks,  but  they  were  not  well  received, 
and  she  lapsed  into  silence,  trying,  in  spite  of  her  headache 
and  the  bruising  blows  she  got  every  now  and  then  from  the 
roof  or  side,  to  see  out  of  the  window  and  enjoy  the  lovely 
country,  rich  in  waving  banana  and  palm,  they  were  going 
through.  At  last  the  evening  coolness  came,  its  rosy  flush, 
its  amber  light,  and  with  it  they  drew  into  the  dainty,  charm- 
ing little  village  of  Mitla,  lovely  and  ideal,  like  a  scene  on  an 
exquisite  plate  or  hand-painted  card.  Sick  and  exhausted, 
cramped  and  bruised,  but  fully  alive  to  the  charm  of  it  all, 
Lydia  stepped  out  in  the  still  sweet  air,  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  green  turfy  road,  on  either  side  of  which  stood 
the  small  grass-thatched  huts  of  the  natives,  each  standing 
in  its  own  enclosure,  fenced  round  with  giant  organ  cactus, 
planted  so  that  it  grows  up  straight  and  tall,  many  feet  in 
height,  forming  a  natural  fence.  Seen  for  the  first  time 
these  great  lofty,  dark-green  palisades  of  cactus,  some  bearing 
vivid  crimson  and  golden  flowers,  enclosing  each  one  its  hut 
and  garden,  and  leaving  neat  alleyways  between,  are  striking 
and  impressive.  Lydia  gazed  upon  them  with  delight,  and 
felt  a  little  thrill  of  joy  as  she  went  into  the  low,  square  build- 
ing, not  as  high  as  the  banana  trees  that  waved  by  it,  of  the 
Mitla  posada.  This  was  no  native  hut  but  had  been  the 
hacienda  of  a  great  man  in  its  day,  and  still  owned  its  char- 
acteristic patio,  or  court,  open  to  the  stars,  full  of  banana 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  255 

trees,  with  its  deep  well  in  the  centre,  and  its  covered  way 
running  all  round,  into  which  the  heavy  wooden  doors  of 
the  windowless,  brick-floored  rooms  opened.  One  of  these 
was  assigned  to  them,  and  a  little  table  placed  outside,  in 
the  covered  way,  for  their  dinner.  The  still,  delicious, 
sweet-scented  peace  of  the  court  in  the  rosy  gold  of  the 
evening,  after  the  heat  and  noise  of  the  day,  appealed  to 
Lydia  greatly,  and  soothed  even  Pelham,  as  they  came  into 
it.  Her  head  ached  still,  but  she  was  hardly  conscious  of 
it,  nor  of  her  great  fatigue,  as  she  sat  in  the  verandah,  look- 
ing into  the  green  of  the  banana-filled  court :  the  sky  burned 
over  it  with  a  deep  pink  lustre,  it  was  very  still  all  round, 
except  for  the  hot  sound  of  the  cicala  singing.  There  seemed 
no  one  staying  in  the  hacienda  but  themselves,  and  the  people 
of  the  house  were  all  away  at  the  back,  behind  the  covered 
way.  Eustace  had  disappeared  too,  there  was  no  one  near 
her  to  break  the  harmony  of  colour  and  silence.  She  sat 
still,  drinking  it  in,  and  felt  revived  and  refreshed  by  it. 
The  true  aesthete  can  never  be  really  unhappy.  There  is 
so  much  in  this  world  to  feed  every  sense  with  joy.  Her 
thoughts  slipped  back  to  the  wonderful  Arizona  valley, 
over  which  how  often  she  had  seen  these  same  stars  rise  and 
set,  but  she  had  no  wish  to  return.  Hateful  as  many  of  her 
days  were  made  for  her  now,  they  were  never  alike,  and  to 
some  natures  a  varying  succession  of  disagreeable  things  is 
more  bearable  than  an  unvarying  succession  of  agreeable 
ones.  She  had  run  away  with  two  lovers — Life  and 
Pelham — and  if  the  latter  were  unsatisfactory,  at  least 
the  former,  in  his  constant  changes  of  mood,  delighted 
her.  When  Pelham  came  out  into  the  covered  way, 
very  cross  and  dusty  from  unstrapping  his  portman- 
teaux, he  found  her  tranquil  and  smiling.  She  wanted 
him  to  sit  down  and  share  with  her  the  beauty  of  the 
scene. 

"Yes,  it's  very  beautiful,"  he  answered,  "but  I  must  go 
and  see  what  they  are  going  to  give  us  for  dinner.  I  am 
frightfully  hungry,  and  I  suppose  they  won't  give  us  any 


256  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

thing  fit  to  eat,"  and  he  went  away  again.    Lydia  turned  to 
the  court. 

Pelham  was  fairly  correct  in  his  prophecy  as  to  the 
dinner,  prettily  served  on  their  little  table,  under  a  swinging 
lamp,  with  quantities  of  the  red  cactus  flower  arranged  in  a 
blue  bowl  in  the  centre.  Some  very  thin  soup  was  followed 
by  some  hard  and  impossible  meat,  and  this  by  an  enormous 
dish  of  frijoles — the  brown  haricot  bean  on  which  the  natives 
live  and  thrive — the  aforementioned  stone-like  buns  and 
black  bean  coffee  completed  the  meal.  However,  it  was 
something  to  eat,  and  Lydia  ate  her  beans  and  drank  her 
pulke — the  native  drink  of  the  country,  which  looks  like 
milk  and  tastes  like  beer — uncomplainingly,  looking  out  to 
the  lustrous  purple  twilight.  The  cicalae  sang  merrily 
round  them,  their  wild  song  only  heard  in  the  tropics,  the 
hot  still  air  was  full  of  sweet  scent,  and  Pelham  seemed 
rather  less  unamiable  than  usual.  She  felt  happy  with  this 
much.  She  was  young,  she  was  well  and  strong  and  good- 
looking,  in  a  sense  she  was  independent:  no  one  could  hurt 
her  much.  If  one  purchase  in  Life's  shop  were  unsatisfac- 
tory she  had  plenty  of  money  in  her  hand,  she  could  buy 
something  else.  She  could  not  be  said  to  think  this:  it  was 
simply  a  sub-conscious  state  of  her  mind  that  gave  colour 
to  her  thoughts.  But  there  was  error  in  her  half -uncon- 
scious reasoning.  No  human  being  is  independent.  He 
carries  within  him  the  elements  of  servitude.  He  is  never 
independent  of  his  feelings.  He  is  too  apt  to  consider  his 
feelings  as  his  own,  his  property,  his  toys,  but  they  are  no  more 
his  than  are  the  servants  of  his  household.  They  are  his 
servitors,  not  his  slaves,  they  stand  in  much  the  same  relation 
to  him.  They  do  his  bidding  up  to  a  certain  point  and 
serve  him  faithfully  as  a  rule,  but  rebellion  and  revolt  is 
common  to  them  if  too  harshly  treated,  and  then  they  usurp 
the  mastery,  and  he  has  to  do  their  bidding,  as  the  successful 
and  undetected  murderer  finds  to  his  cost,  when  they  drive 
him  to  confess,  and  to  the  scaffold.  He  has  trampled  on 
then,  and,  to  his  infinite  surprise,  they  and  they  alone  rise 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  257 

to  slay  him.  Lydia,  already  once  conquered,  and  driven 
by  their  stress  to  this  man,  might  have  foreseen  easily  how 
they  might  conquer  again,  but  she  had  not  yet  learnt  her 
lesson.  The  future  still  held  it  for  her 

After  dinner  they  took  a  few  turns  together  up  and  down 
the  covered  way  in  the  moonlight,  and  then,  to  her  regret, 
Pelham  said  he  was  tired,  and  they  went  to  their  room,  that 
opened,  by  a  great  wooden  door,  off  the  verandah. 

"Do  you  notice  that  we  have  no  windows,  and  when  we 
shut  this  door  we  shall  be  in  pitch  darkness?"  Pelham  re- 
marked. 

"There's  a  large  crack  under  the  door:  we  shall  get 
some  moonlight,"  replied  Lydia,  with  her  bright,  careless 
laugh.  She  took  her  hat  off  and  flung  herself  upon  the  little 
bed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  to  Pelham 's:  she  was 
worn  out  and  needed  sleep. 

Pelham  swung  the  great,  thick,  wooden  doors,  like  the 
doors  of  a  church  or  a  barn,  to,  and  shot  the  massive  bolts. 
Then  they  were  in  utter  darkness,  like  that  of  a  prison  cell, 
save  for  the  vivid  silver  riband  of  light  on  the  worn  bricks 
beneath  the  door. 

The  girl  said  nothing  more,  and  soon  drifted  into  oblivion. 
But  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  when  the  moon  had  set,  and 
even  the  silver  streak  disappeared,  she  awoke  suddenly  to 
find  herself  in  Pelham 's  arms.  And  because  the  shape  of 
his  nose  was  perfect  and  she  loved  it,  and  because  the  tones 
of  his  voice  pleased  her  ear,  and  his  whole  personality  was 
such  as  took  by  storm  her  fastidious  taste,  she  turned  to  him 
with  delight,  and  the  harshness  of  the  previous  day  was 
melted  away  in  pleasure,  and  she  sank  into  a  happy  sleep 
against  his  breast 


17 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  next  morning  Lydia  got  up  feeling  happy,  for  the  joy 
of  the  night  was  still  with  her,  but  her  happiness  did  not 
last,  for  Pelham  seemed  determined  to  be  more  unkind, 
inconsiderate,  more  cruel  than  usual,  and  it  oppressed  the 
sensitive,  delicate  nature  of  the  girl  even  amongst  these 
surroundings,  where  every  sense  was  wooed  and  soothed  by 
beauty.  She  could  not  understand  his  excessive  harshness, 
coming  immediately  after  the  perfect  union  and  passion  of 
the  night.  He  complained  of  feeling  ill,  and  she  saw  that 
he  looked  so,  and,  more  than  this,  she  divined  that  he  felt  a 
hatred  of  her  as  being  the  cause  of  his  fatigue,  his  nervous 
inability  to  enjoy  the  scenes  about  him.  She  excused  him 
to  herself  on  this  account,  and  tried,  by  her  tender  gentle- 
ness and  yielding  to  all  he  wished,  to  soothe  him.  They 
were  up  with  the  first  ray  of  light  and  went  out  into  the  patio 
to  find  their  miserable  breakfast  set  on  the  little  table,  ex- 
quisitely decorated  with  flowers,  as  the  night  before.  In 
exchange  for  the  black  bean  coffee  they  thought  they  would 
have  some  cocoa,  which  they  had  with  them,  and  while  Pel- 
ham  attended  to  making  it,  Lydia  slipped  out  to  see  if  she 
could  get  some  better  milk  in  the  village.  How  lovely  it 
was,  she  thought,  as  she  stepped  into  the  road  through  the 
stone  archway.  The  morning  air  was  sweet  and  cool,  a 
bright  silence  was  all  around,  the  sky  stretched  overhead  a 
pale  tranquil  blue,  and  the  rich  dark  green  defiles  of  the 
great  organ  cactus  opened  on  every  side,  soft,  silent,  sandy 
ways  leading  out  to  the  desert  plain.  Down  one  of  these 
she  went,  admiring  the  straight,  lofty  cactus,  each  succulent 
stem  nearly  as  thick  round  as  her  body,  each  standing  close 

258 . 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  259 

to  each,  and  rising  straight  from  twelve  to  twenty  and  thirty 
feet.  These  wild  savage  plants,  armed  with  their  deadly 
spines,  pressed  into  the  service  or  man  to  make  these  orderly 
and  formidable  palisades,  and  yet,  even  in  order,  reminding 
one  irresistibly  of  their  barbaric  origin,  the  fierce  desert  from 
which  they  come,  impressed  her  deeply.  It  was  something 
she  had  never  seen  before,  familiar  as  she  was  with  the 
spreading,  large-leaved  cactus,  and  nowhere  perhaps  in  the 
world  is  it  seen  to  such  perfection,  in  such  magnificent  pro- 
portions, as  here.  At  each  little  hut,  in  its  compound  within 
the  living  green  paling,  she  inquired  for  milk;  her  knowledge 
of  Mexican,  even  of  Spanish,  was  limited,  but  she  was 
marvellously  quick  in  all  learning,  thanks  to  the  many  hours 
of  brain  work  her  father  had  done,  and  she  had  already 
picked  up  all  that  was  most  useful.  In  one  of  the  last  of 
the  huts  she  saw  some  rather  good-looking  bread,  and  bought 
it,  together  with  a  pannikin  of  goat's  milk,  and  with  these 
she  hurried  back  to  the  hotel  at  top  speed.  She  found 
Pelham  waiting  for  her  at  the  table.  He  couldn't  understand 
why  she  had  been  so  long,  and  grumbled  at  the  shape  of  the 
loaves  she  had  chosen.  He  did  not  thank  her  for  exerting 
herself  to  get  it,  but  admitted  it  was  somewhat  better  than 
what  they  had,  which  was  all  Lydia  wanted.  If  only  he  was 
pleased!  If  only  she  could  please  him!  That  was  her  one 
single  thought.  They  had  their  cocoa  and  a  fairly  pleasant 
breakfast,  while  the  birds  warbled  to  them,  and  the  sun, 
climbing  up,  just  glinted  on  the  top  of  the  great  swaying 
banana  leaves  in  the  deep  cool  patio.  Then  they  packed 
some  lunch  in  a  basket,  which  Lydia  carried,  and  started  on 
foot  for  the  ruined  temples  that  are  the  pride  and  glory  of 
the  tiny  village  of  Mitla.  Full  of  youth  and  health  and  the 
love  of  novelty  and  adventure,  excited  by  new  scenes  and 
sights,  the  girl  would  have  felt  perfectly  happy,  and  trod 
on  air  beside  him,  but  Pelham  did  his  very  best  to  crush  all 
the  joy  out  of  her.  There  is  one  gift  which  all  men  seem 
to  possess  in  common,  and  in  perfection,  the  art  of  being 
ungracious.  There  is  no  other  word  that  expresses  it  so 


260  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

•well.  A  woman  may  be  angry,  petulant,  hasty,  sulky,  but 
in  sheer  ungraciousness  she  is  never  a  match  for  the  average 
man,  when  he  chooses.  There  was  nothing  that  morning 
that  the  girl  could  look,  do,  say  or  be  that  was  right. 
As  they  walked  down  a  cactus-lined  way  to  the  open 
country  he  remarked  that  her  dress  was  too  long,  it  raised 
the  dust. 

"Why  do  you  have  your  dresses  all  down  on  the  ground 
like  that  ? — a  detestable,  unhealthy  custom." 

Lydia,  who  knew  perfectly  well  her  dress  was  two  inches 
from  the  ground,  and  could  not  possibly  touch  it,  forbore 
to  say  so,  lest  she  should  be  "arguing."  She  merely  said 
she  was  sorry  she  raised  a  dust,  and  lifted  her  dress.  As 
she  did  so  a  small  piece  of  braid  on  the  edge,  about  hah*  an 
inch,  that  had  come  undone,  caught  his  eye. 

"Why  don't  you  mend  your  things?  That  skirt  is  all 
in  rags  at  the  bottom.  I  do  dislike  torn  and  ragged  clothes. 
I  can't  think  why  you  don't  attend  to  those  simple  matters." 

Lydia  said  nothing.  She  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
The  skirt  she  was  wearing  was  a  new  one,  and  the  braid  had 
merely  come  unfastened  where  it  had  been  carelessly  finished 
off  by  the  tailor. 

Pelham  went  on,  in  the  most  acrid  tone, — 

"American  girls  are  always  so  neat  and  trim  in  their 
dress.  You  never  see  them  in  rags.  Even  when  they  are 
poor  they  manage  to  be  always  smart.  I  hate  long,  trail- 
ing, ragged  skirts." 

Lydia,  thinking  it  would  seem  rude  to  remain  silent  any 
longer,  murmured,  "I  am  very  sorry,  I  will  mend  it  when 
we  get  back,"  but  Pelham  was  one  of  those  people  who 
never  accepted  an  apology  generously.  He  seemed  always 
to  look  upon  an  apology  as  a  sign  of  weakness,  and  when 
people  apologised  to  him  he  jumped  upon  them  all  the  more. 
Lydia  learned  this  in  time,  and  later  she  never  apologised  to 
him  for  anything,  even  when  she  knew  herself  in  fault.  It 
was  no  good:  it  only  made  matters  worse. 

"Being  sorry  doesn't  alter  it,"  returned  Pelham,  sharply; 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  261 

"there  ought  never  to  be  occasion  for  me  to  speak  of  these 
things." 

Lydia  was  silent.  To  herself  she  said,  "There  is  none 
but  you  make  it." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  plain,  the  waste  country 
lying  round  the  fertile  village.  The  road  sloped  gently  up- 
wards, climbing  to  the  slight  eminence  whereon  are  set 
the  sacred  temples  of  Mitla. 

Lydia  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight,  in  spite  of  the  depress- 
ing effect  of  Pelham's  strictures,  as  she  drank  in  the  beauty 
of  the  sc*ne.  Ringed  round  the  horizon  stood  the  distant 
purple  hills,  and  here  in  front  of  them,  enthroned  above  the 
surrounding  sandy  plain,  broken  by  dark  green  patches  of 
the  maguey  plant  under  cultivation,  the  graceful  lines  of  a 
pepper  tree,  and  here  and  there  an  adobe  hut,  stood  the 
temples,  their  bright  yellow  sandstone  walls  flashing  gold 
in  the  morning  light,  as  they  have  stood  for  thousands  of 
years,  so  many  thousands  that  their  origin  and  history  is 
lost.  Who  built  them,  by  what  arts,  for  what  gods,  who 
worshipped  here,  all  is  lost  behind  the  veils  of  their  antiquity. 
The  temples  are  roofless  now,  perhaps  always  were,  but 
the  walls  stand  solid  and  complete  and  perfect,  unhurt  by 
the  tooth  of  Time  or  the  grating  desert  sand,  and  wall  after 
wall  is  covered  inside  and  outside  by  panels  of  beautiful 
patterns:  strange  snake-like  scrolls  and  designs  that,  at  a 
little  distance,  look  like  some  magic  writing  in  gold  upon  a 
golden  wall.  Awestruck  and  charmed  they  went  on  towards 
them  in  silence  and  gained  admittance  at  a  little  gate,  kept 
by  a  gatekeeper,  in  the  old  crumbling  wall  that  runs  round  a 
wide  square  of  ground  surrounding  the  temples.  The 
custodian  was  old  and  apathetic  and  passed  them  through 
in  silence,  without  offering  to  accompany  them.  No  human 
being  seemed  to  be  within  the  enclosure,  all  was  calm,  im- 
pressive, sunlit  stillness  round  these  perfect,  enduring, 
monuments  of  a  vanished  past.  Within  the  wall  there  was 
a  spring,  near  which  two  pepper  trees  were  growing,  their 
song,  delicate,  waving  foliage  drooping  down  to  and  sweep- 


262  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

ing  the  ground  like  long  strands  of  waving  hair,  and  the 
strings  of  brilliant  scarlet  berries,  the  fruit  of  the  tree,  seemed 
like  jewels  in  beauty's  tresses;  a  fine  green  turf,  spangled 
with  tiny  wild  flowers,  sprang  softly  beneath  their  feet  as 
they  crossed  to  the  open  portal  of  the  main  temple.  At  its 
side  stand  some  colossal  monoliths,  upright,  with  a  single 
huge  stone  laid  across  the  top.  In  the  cool  shade  of  one  of 
these  they  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  through,  out  over 
the  burnished  sand,  away  to  the  deep  purple  of  the  hills. 

"How  exquisite  it  all  is,"  Lydia  murmured.  "What  a 
beautiful  view  they  had  all  round  their  temples." 

"Yes,  but  it's  getting  hot  now.  It  would  have  been 
much  better  if  we  had  got  here  earlier.  I  wish  I  could  get 
you  into  the  habit  of  getting  up  in  the  morning." 

Lydia  stared  at  him,  involuntarily,  for  a  moment.  Had 
he  forgotten  that  she  was  up  first  this  morning  ? 

Pelham  was  looking  up  at  the  golden  wall  of  the  temple 
beside  them,  and  as  there  seemed  no  need  for  an  answer, 
Lydia  made  none. 

"It  is  curious  that  all  these  Mitla  temples  face  the  west," 
he  remarked,  after  a  moment.  "All  others  that  I  know  face 
east;  these  people  seem  to  have  had  no  idea  of  Orientation." 

"But  this  one  faces  the  east,  Eustace,"  replied  Lydia, 
unthinkingly,  from  where  she  sat  in  the  sun,  looking  out  to 
the  morning  sky. 

Pelham  turned  upon  her  furiously. 

"I  wish  you  would  not  contradict  me,"  he  said.  "I 
cannot  make  a  single  remark  without  you  immediately  say 
the  contrary.  You  know  nothing  of  what  you  are  talking 
about,  you  simply  delight  in  putting  yourself  in  opposition 
to  whatever  I  say.  If  you  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the 
sky  you  will  see  which  is  the  east." 

"But  the  sun  rises  in  the  east  and  is  directly  in  our  eyes 
now,  and  on  the  face  of  the  temple,"  expostulated  the  girl. 

They  were  standing  facing  the  east  and  so  was  the  temple. 
It  seemed  incredible  to  her  that  he  meant  what  he  said. 

"Don't  speak,"  Pelham  thundered.     His  face  was  grey, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  263 

like  the  ancient  stone  in  the  shadow:  he  made  a  few  steps 
towards  her,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  sudden  anger,  he  felt  if 
she  said  one  word  he  could  dash  her  head  against  the  pillar 
beside  her.  But  she  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  and  after  a 
second's  rigid  silence  Pelham  turned  away  from  the  open 
archway  and  passed  into  the  temple. 

The  girl  sat  where  she  was,  a  prey  to  the  most  intense 
surprise:  that  was  her  sole  feeling  for  the  moment.  She 
had  not  had  the  least  intention  of  contradicting  Pelham. 
When  he  had  first  spoken  she  had  thought  he  referred  to 
the  other  temples  in  the  group,  and  by  her  remark  she  had 
only  intended  to  draw  his  attention  to  this  one,  which  was, 
perhaps,  an  exception.  She  reproached  herself  now  for  not 
having  accepted  his  statement  in  silence.  She  had  had 
some  lessons  before.  "But  it  is  so  hard  to  remember,  on 
the  spur  of  the  minute,  that  I  am  never  to  have  any  opinion 
of  my  own,  that  whatever  he  says  I  am  to  seem  to  agree, 
whether  I  do  really  or  not.  I  wonder  how  he  can  like  to 
have  a  companion  who  is  nothing  but  a  senseless  echo.  I 
should  hate  it."  Her  thoughts  slipped  back  to  days  with 
Bernard,  how  freely  they  had  always  expressed  their  opinions, 
each  to  each,  without  a  thought  of  offence  on  either  side. 
She  could  not  understand  how  the  amicable  interchange 
of  ideas  and  opinions,  even  though  opposite  ones,  she  had 
always  been  accustomed  to,  should  be  considered  "arguing" 
and  "contradiction"  by  this  man. 

"I  must  remember  to  say  yes  to  everything,  no  matter 
what,  or  else  be  silent,"  she  impressed  upon  herself,  calling 
herself  stupid  for  having  for  a  moment  forgotten  this.  Then 
a  little  smile  came  to  her  lips  as  she  remembered  how  even 
this  course  brought  her  into  difficulties.  Sometimes,  in  re- 
tracing a  road,  Pelham  would  stop  short  before  a  turning 
to  left  or  right  and  say,  "I  think  this  is  our  road,  don't  you  ?" 
Knowing  quite  well  it  was  not,  but  that  theirs  lay  in  the 
opposite  direction,  she  was  afraid  to  say  so,  lest,  black  with 
anger,  as  just  know,  he  should  tell  her  she  was  contradicting 
him;  if  she  hastily  agreed  with  him  it  was  hard  to  tramp, 


264  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

tired  and  footsore,  mile  after  mile  away  from  camp,  knowing 
that  the  moment  Pelham  discovered  the  mistake  he  would 
turn  upon  her  sharply,  saying,  "I  asked  you:  you  said  this 
was  the  road.  I  wish  you  would  pay  some  little  attention 
to  the  direction  and  try  to  help  me.  I  can't  understand  why 
it  is  women  are  such  fools  at  topography!"  Yes,  it  was 
difficult,  but  she  must  manage  somehow  to  avoid  irritating 
and  annoying  him.  Surely  she  was  clever  enough  to  find 
some  diplomatic  way  of  turning  off  the  question  when  it 
seemed  impossible  to  say  "Yes."  Those  delicious  passionate 
moments,  were  they  not  worth  any  price  in  self-denial, 
self-control?  She  loved  him  so  much  then,  and  found  so 
much  joy  in  the  sight  and  sound  and  presence  of  him,  above 
all  in  his  passion  for  her,  that  it  seemed  little  to  spend  her 
life  in  the  effort  to  please  and  satisfy  him.  She  stayed  where 
she  was,  instinctively  feeling  that  the  wisest  thing  to  do. 
For  the  moment  his  irritation  was  so  great  the  sight  of  her 
was  intolerable  to  him.  When  he  wished  for  her  he  would 
return.  Her  thoughts  travelled  on:  it  was  very  still  round 
her:  the  heat  increased  as  the  sun  rose,  and  a  scorching 
wind,  with  a  rabid,  grating,  sandy  tooth,  began  to  blow 
from  the  desert  and  invade  the  quiet  temple  court.  She  sat 
still,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  graceful  scrolls  and  patterns 
on  the  golden  temple  walls,  and  watching  some  small  birds 
winging  their  way  across  the  enclosure.  They  were  one 
vivid  tint  of  brightest  crimson  from  beak  to  tail,  from  wing- 
tip  to  wing-tip,  tropical  birds,  crested  and  beautiful.  After 
about  an  hour  Pelham  returned.  She  heard  his  footsteps 
on  the  stone  and  looked  up  with  her  brightest  smile.  He 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  annoyance,  and  sat  down, 
proposing  they  should  have  some  luncheon.  She  unpacked 
the  basket  and  deftly  set  everything  out  on  the  stone  threshold 
of  the  door,  that  formed  a  table.  They  had  a  small  bottle  of 
champagne,  which  she  started  to  open,  but  Pelham  took  it 
away  from  her  with  the  curt  remark,  "You'd  better  let  me 
do  that.  You  will  only  make  a  muddle  of  it." 

Lydia,  who  had  always  opened  bottles  of  all  sorts  of 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  265 

wine  on  the  ranch,  and  was  generally  complimented  on  her 
quick  and  dexterous  way  of  doing  it,  felt  hurt,  but  said 
nothing.  She  was  accustomed  to  be  hurt  all  day  long,  in 
small  ways,  by  look,  by  tone,  by  word  and  manner,  and 
have  it  intimated  to  her,  usually  acknowledged  to  be  partic- 
ularly bright  and  clever,  that  she  was  a  perfect  fool.  Only 
an  extraordinarily  sunny  temper  like  her  own  could  have 
stood  it  without  resentment.  Perhaps  the  very  knowl- 
edge of  its  injustice  helped  her.  Something  seemed  to  say 
within  her,  "No  matter,  one  day  he  will  know  and  recognise 
you  for  what  you  are." 

Lunch  passed  off  smoothly,  and  then  Pelham  told  her 
to  come  in  with  him  and  examine  the  different  temple  rooms, 
and  they  passed  from  one  to  another,  while  he  talked  about 
the  decoration  and  explained  some  of  the  hieroglyphs.  Lydia, 
well  on  her  guard,  assented  to  everything,  listened  earnestly 
to  each  word,  and  only  made  the  most  guarded  observations. 
Some  of  the  courts  were  full  of  sun,  others  deep  in  shade, 
but  the  magic-looking  writing  stood  out  in  gold  or  grey, 
equally  mysterious  and  beautiful,  in  each  one.  As  the  sun- 
light was  growing  orange,  and  the  hot  wind  sinking  to  a 
whisper,  and  the  sky  flushing  at  the  kiss  of  evening,  they 
went  down  beneath  one  of  the  temples  to  a  subterranean 
chamber,  narrow  and  low,  dark,  save  for  the  light  that  entered 
with  them,  and  here  the  writing  and  the  scrolls  were  vermil- 
ion, blue  and  purple,  tints  cherished  by  the  darkness,  and 
very  beautiful.  Pelham  seemed  to  linger  there,  unwilling 
to  leave,  and  Lydia,  nothing  loath,  sat  down  on  the  yellow 
sanded  floor,  hugging  her  knees,  and  watching  him  as  he 
moved  from  one  panel  to  another  of  the  ornamentation, 
looking  at  the  work.  Going  back  across  the  enclosure,  in 
the  warm,  lustrous,  violet  evening,  it  was  all  such  an  en- 
chanting scene  of  calm,  mysterious  beauty,  that  she  pressed 
his  arm  suddenly  and  said, — 

"Oh,  Eustace,  it's  so  lovely.  Do  let  us  stay  another  day 
and  enjoy  it.  We  came  a  long  way  to  see  them,  let's  stay, 
now  we  are  here,  one  more  day."  Pelham,  up  till  that 


266  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

moment,  had  been  debating  with  himself  if  he  should  stay 
longer:  he  had  made  an  arrangement  for  three  days'  hire 
of  his  carriage  and  team,  and  by  that  they  should  return 
to-morrow,  but  the  place  attracted  him,  and  he  was  almost 
on  the  point  of  deciding  to  stay  longer  when  she  spoke. 
Immediately  she  did  so  he  felt  inclined  to  refuse,  and  said, 
in  an  annoyed  tone, — 

" Surely  a  whole  day  is  enough!  Most  Americans  would 
have  given  the  place  only  an  hour  or  two.  That  is  so  like 
you.  You  are  never  satisfied." 

"Yes,  I  am  immensely  pleased  to  have  seen  them,  and 
grateful  to  you  for  bringing  me.  I  only  thought  we  might 
stay  one  more  day.  We  have  no  special  reason  for  going 
back." 

"We  must  keep  the  carriage  if  we  do,  and  we  have  to 
make  a  new  arrangement  about  it." 

Lydia  was  silent.  She  was  thinking,  when  they  had 
come  thousands  of  miles  to  see  a  place,  at  a  cost  of  hundreds 
of  pounds,  he  might  have  stayed  twenty-four  hours  longer 
to  please  her. 

"If  we  stayed  another  day,  you'd  still  wish  to  stay  on," 
continued  Pelham,  in  a  biting  tone.  "I  am  not  going  to 
alter  the  whole  arrangement  now:  we  must  go  back  to- 
morrow." 

Lydia  did  not  answer:  crossing  that  court,  so  still,  so 
full  of  the  splendour  of  the  past,  in  the  hot  night,  with  the 
low  hills  of  the  sandy  waste  just  visible  in  the  dusk  round 
the  enclosure,  the  temples  clear  still  against  the  luminous 
sky,  tears  rose  in  her  eyes.  It  had  been  a  day  of  so  much 
brilliance  and  beauty  and  interested  delight,  yet  its  memory 
would  always  be  tarnished  with  the  pain  he  had  put  into  it. 
"He  can't  love  me  a  bit,"  she  thought  despairingly.  "What 
is  the  matter  with  me  ?" 

No  more  was  said  between  them  on  the  point.  As  they 
passed  through  the  enclosure  gate,  under  the  pepper  trees 
by  the  well,  she  took  a  farewell  glance  at  the  exquisite  lines 
of  the  lonely  walls  against  the  star  and  planet-filled  violet 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  267 

sky,  then  followed  Pelham,  silently,  into  the  road.  It 
seemed  very  lonely,  not  a  step,  not  a  sound.  As  they  started 
homewards  a  slouching  figure  crept  from  the  darkness  of  the 
wall  and  followed  them.  Lydia  saw  it  and  dropped  a  shade 
behind  Pelham,  putting  herself  between  him  and  the  skulking 
shadow.  The  Mexican's  knife  should  go  through  her  before 
it  touched  Eustace,  she  thought,  but,  either  aware  of  her 
watchfulness,  or  merely  because  he  was  an  honest  villager 
homeward  bound,  the  man  did  not  offer  to  attack  them. 
As  they  neared  the  cactus  palisades  and  their  shadower 
disappeared,  a  sudden  ray  of  light  illumined  the  melancholy 
that  invaded  Lydia's  thoughts.  Pelham  took  her  arm,  drew 
her  to  him,  and  murmured, — 

"Ah,  how  I  should  have  liked  to  have  you  in  my  arms  in 
that  dark  vault!  What  thousands  of  years  it  has  been  there. 
What  numbers  of  other  lovers  it  may  have  sheltered!" 

Lydia  half  stopped,  her  heart  beating, 

"Well,  but  why — ?"  she  whispered. 

"I  was  afraid.  Some  American  tourists  might  have 
come  down  there,  or  the  custodian — any  minute." 

"I  am  glad  you  thought  about  me  there,"  murmured 
Lydia.  She  was  surprised,  pleased,  confused.  He  had 
seemed  very  unkind  to  her  that  day,  but  yet — 

The  next  day  the  deep  green  patio,  the  stretches  of  ma- 
guey plants,  the  cactus  palisades  and  grass-roofed  adobe 
huts  were  left  behind.  They  returned  to  Oaxaca  and  thence 
to  the  city  of  Mexico. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WEEK  followed  week,  day  after  day  slipped  from  the  warm 
golden  sunlight  of  the  present  into  the  cold  blue  shadows 
of  the  past,  and  matters  did  not  improve  between  these  two. 
The  girl  was  in  despair,  and  saw  the  hours  she  had  bought  at 
such  cost  slipping  one  by  one  to  their  grave.  She  saw  she 
was  young  and  beantiful,  she  felt  she  was  well  and  strong, 
all  round  her  persistent  beauty  challenged  her  to  enjoy; 
they  had  wealth  and  freedom.  Nobody  interfered  with  them, 
but  the  man  himself  spoiled  it  all.  Of  course  there  were 
happy  hours  when  they  knew  together  delight  such  as  few 
men  and  women  attain  to  in  this  world,  for  highly-strung 
temperaments  with  intense  sensibility,  though  they  carry 
heavy  penalties  with  them,  still  have  their  reward  in  capacity 
for  pleasure  as  well  as  pain,  but  they  came  so  seldom,  there 
were  such  long  blanks  between,  sometimes  months,  when 
day  after  day,  night  after  night  passed  unen joyed,  unlived, 
and  the  girl,  who  had  the  brain  of  a  philosopher,  and  knew 
that  youth  and  beauty  and  health  must  pass,  felt  sometimes 
maddened  by  pain  and  longing  'and  regret,  as  one  who, 
having  a  bag  of  pearls,  saw  some  maniac  drop  them  singly 
into  the  sea.  These  days  were  pearls  indeed,  falling  wasted 
into  the  sea  of  the  past. 

One  night,  when  they  were  staying  at  Orizaba,  one 
lovely  night  of  moon  and  stars  and  soft  hot  airs,  floating 
laden  with  the  fragrance  of  orange  bloom,  from  grove  and  gar- 
den,this  sense  of  desperate  regret  swept  over  her  with  atremen- 
dous  force.  They  had  just  come  up  from  dinner;  she  stood 
alone  in  her  room  before  the  open  casement,  which  looked 
out  over  an  old  and  tangled  garden  of  luxuriant  tropical 
beauty,  away  to  the  gorgeous  snow-capped  Peak  of  Orizaba. 

268 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  269 

"Is  it  myself,  is  it  my  fault?"  she  asked  herself.  "Can 
I  do  any  more  ?"  She  struck  a  light  and  put  it  to  the  wax 
candles  above  the  toilet  glass.  Then,  as  they  burnt  up 
slowly,  she  looked  at  herself  critically  in  the  liquid  shadow 
of  the  mirror.  She  had  dressed  herself  carefully  for  dinner, 
though  there  were  no  eyes  to  please  but  his,  for  the  guests 
at  the  moment  in  the  hotel  comprised  only  a  few  old  sleepy 
Mexicans  and  some  very  common  American  youths  on  a 
tour  through  the  country.  Her  dress  of  pale  pink  silk,  the 
colour  of  the  fairest  rose  leaf,  became  her.  Her  hair,  so 
lovely  in  itself,  was  beautifully  done,  her  great,  star-like, 
impassioned  eyes  looked  back  at  her,  exquisitely  seductive,  full 
of  a  wondering  despair.  No,  there  seemed  nothing  want- 
ing here,  nothing  farther  that  could  be  done  to  enhance  the 
picture. 

"If  I  am  not  happy  now  I  shall  never  be,"  she  thought. 

Partly  emboldened  by  the  sight  of  her  beauty,  partly 
urged  by  that  thought  of  the  flying  present  and  the  uncertain 
future,  partly  maddened  by  the  lustrous,  exciting,  inviting 
beauty  of  the  night,  she  passed  through  her  room  to  his,  and 
after  knocking,  entered.  He  was  writing  a  letter  on  the 
corner  of  the  dressing-table,  and  neither  rose  nor  looked  up. 
She  did  not  speak  until  he  had  finished,  standing  silent  by 
the  open  window,  looking  at  the  moon-light  pouring  through 
the  orange  leaves,  and  pointing  with  light,  here  and  there, 
great  white  buds  of  the  sleeping  flowers  beneath. 

"What  a  lovely  night  it  is,"  she  said  softly,  when  he 
had  sealed  up  his  letter  and  pushed  his  chair  back.  "Should 
we  go  out  and  take  a  turn  round  the  garden  ? " 

"No,  I  am  dead  tired  and  worn  out.  I  am  going  to  bed," 
he  answered,  rising  and  turning  his  coat  off  his  shoulders. 
"I  suppose  it's  the  damp  and  the  heat,  and  getting  nothing 
to  eat,  that  makes  one  feel  so  used  up  in  these  places." 

She  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  his  bed  and  watched  him 
while  he  undressed.  When  he  came  up  to  the  bed  she  rose 
and  stood  in  front  of  him,  close  to  him.  She  had  her  loveliest 
smile,  her  softest  air. 


270  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Eustace,  will  you  not  let  me  sleep  in  your  arms  to« 
night?  I  am  so  unhappy  because  we  seem  so  estranged. 
I  need  not  disturb  you.  I  get  no  sleep,  by  myself,  in  my 
room,  but  I  should  fall  asleep  directly  beside  you.  Your 
presence,  your  proximity  is  all  I  need  to  make  me  perfectly 
happy.  Do  let  me  stay." 

She  looked  very  lovely  and  her  voice  was  very  tender, 
but  to  the  man,  nervously  tired  and  exhausted,  the  vision 
of  her  was  only  as  the  hot  glow  of  sunlight  is  to  wearied, 
bloodshot  eyes.  He  did  not  put  his  arms  round  her,  as  she 
stood  by  him.  They  hung  straight  at  his  side.  His  face 
was  cold. 

"I  want  complete  rest  and  sleep.  I  must  have  them. 
Good-night.  I  hope  you  will  sleep  well." 

He  bent  and  put  his  lips  to  her  forehead.  She  was  too 
wise  and  far  too  sensitive  to  press  the  matter.  She  turned 
from  him  and  went  back  gently  into  her  own  room.  But 
she  was  not  in  a  gentle  mood,  though  her  self-control  pre- 
vented her  from  showing  any  other,  and  her  whole  heart 
flamed  within  her  with  resentment  and  passion.  She  crossed 
to  the  window  and  sat  down,  looking  out  into  the  glory  of 
the  night.  She  ached  in  every  limb  and  muscle.  She  felt 
ill  and  sick  and  feverish  and  sleepless,  and  she  knew  perfectly 
well  that  all  these  feelings  would  vanish  into  one  of  perfect 
rest  and  peaceful  delight  if  she  had  been  allowed  to  nestle 
down  beside  him  and  lose  for  a  time  that  frightful  sense  of 
loneliness  of  body  and  mind  that  pressed  upon  her. 

"He  might  sacrifice  himself  for  me  sometimes,"  she 
thought  bitterly,  "and  risk  one  sleepless  night  while  I  slept. 
How  many  do  I  stay  away  from  him  for  his  sake!" 

Then  the  consciousness  of  herself  and  what  she  was,  and 
how  she  had  been  loved,  came  over  her,  and  she  smiled  at 
her  own  thoughts.  "Sacrifice!  What  a  strange  position 
life  has  worked  me  into!  how  many  men  would  give  almost 
all  they  had  to  be  in  his  place,  to  be  loved  by  me  even  one 
tenth  as  much  as  I  love  him.  Why  do  I  stay  with  him  ?  It 
is  useless,  absurd.  Why  do  I  stay?" 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  271 

She  looked  out  into  the  soft,  delicious  night,  questioning 
herself,  but  gained  no  answer.  When  she  finally  lay  down, 
feeling  brimful  of  electricity  that  went  round  and  round  in 
her  body,  forming  a  burning  circle  which  consumed  her, 
neuralgia  sprang  upon  her,  and  she  tossed,  sleepless  and 
tortured,  till  the  early  dawn. 

After  that  night  nearly  every  one  was  made  hideous  by 
it  as  it  tore  and  raged  through  the  delicate  nerves  of  head 
and  eyes  and  teeth.  "Bernard's  avenger"  she  used  to  call 
it,  as,  maddened  and  beside  herself  with  agony,  she  would 
sit  up  and  rock  herself  backwards  and  forwards,  while  Pel- 
ham  slept  tranquilly  on  the  other  side  of  the  door.  Wine, 
she  found,  did  it  good,  but  Pelham  seemed  to  have  an  ex- 
traordinary prejudice  against  her  having  wine,  and  seemed 
unable  to  realise  her  agonies  of  pain  when  she  told  him  of 
them.  There  was  always  coldness  if  she  asked  for  wine  at 
dinner,  and  sometimes  it  was  positively  refused.  He  sug- 
gested she  should  drink  mescal  instead,  which  she  tried  to 
do.  The  poor  quality  of  it  supplied  at  that  place  tasted 
like  methylated  spirits,  and  made  her  feel  sick,  but  it  sufficed 
sometimes  to  deaden  the  pain,  when  at  its  most  terrible  point. 

"I  can  only  suppose  he  has  a  craze  for  being  cruel  to  me," 
she  thought,  when  each  morning,  remorseless  as  the  dawn 
itself,  Pelham  came  to  her  room  at  six  o'clock  and  made  her 
get  up,  though  she  might  only  just  have  fallen  to  sleep.  "Or 
else  he  is  so  absorbed  in  himself  he  cannot  understand  an- 
other's suffering." 

The  long,  hot  days,  full  of  Pelham's  abuse  and  fault- 
finding, the  nights  of  torture,  the  weakness  induced  by  scanty 
food  and  want  of  sleep,  the  crushing  mental  disappointment, 
made  this  life  with  him,  that  had  seemed  to  her  so  covetable, 
so  inviting,  the  wretchedest  and  most  miserable  of  her  exist- 
ence. So  does  the  window  of  Life's  great  shop  deceive  us. 
One  night,  after  Pelham  had  gone  to  bed,  the  waiter  brought 
her  a  letter.  It  was  much  stamped  and  had  been  redirected 
several  times,  as  it  had  followed  them  from  place  to  place, 
but  the  original  address  to  the  post-office,  City  of  Mexico, 


272  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

was  in  Bernard's  handwriting.  Lydia  turned  pale,  and 
trembled  like  a  leaf  as  she  took  it  and  went,  with  weak  steps, 
to  her  own  room.  Low  and  wretched  as  she  usually  felt 
now,  any  fresh  wave  of  emotion  seemed  to  unnerve  her 
utterly.  She  lighted  a  candle,  locked  the  door,  and  then, 
because  all  the  chairs  were  covered,  sat  down  on  the  floor  and 
opened  the  letter. 

"DEAR  LYDIA, — I  have  obtained  a  divorce  against  you, 
as  I  believe  this  is  the  best  and  kindest  thing  to  do  for  you. 
Pelham  can  now  marry  you  if  he  chooses,  and  I  hope  he 
will.  I  say  nothing  of  myself.  You,  who  always  studied 
these  things,  will  know  how  bitterly  I  must  have  suffered. 
But  I  do  not  blame  you  altogether.  I  know  there  must 
have  been  faults  on  my  side  too.  I  know  that  while  I  had 
you,  you  were  the  dearest,  most  devoted  wife  a  man  could 
have.  I  blame  myself  terribly  for  having  lost  you.  The 
child  has  died.  There  seems  little  to  h've  for,  but  I  still  go 
on. — Yours,  BERNARD." 

A  great  tide  of  ice-cold  tears  that  came  to  her  eyes  made 
her  read  this  but  slowly,  then  as  the  full  sense  of  it  broke 
over  the  tender,  sensitive  heart,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she 
had  had  her  death-blow.  Stretched  out  on  the  floor,  with 
her  face  on  this  terrible  letter — terrible  because  so  simple, 
so  unreproachful — the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes,  and 
her  soul,  her  life,  seemed  rushing  away  with  them.  All 
night  she  lay  there;  she  seemed  literally  unable  to  move. 
It  was  as  if  a  heavy  wheel  had  gone  over  her,  mind  and  body. 
Prostrate,  agonised,  she  lay  motionless,  oblivious  of  physical 
sensation.  Her  mind  was  out,  away,  in  the  plains  of  the 
past. 

What  immense  sorrow  to  everyone  her  effort  to  change 
her  life  had  caused.  How  Bernard  had  suffered,  how  she 
herself  had  done,  and  now  there  seemed  nothing  but  one 
great  mass  of  discontentment  and  unhappiness  she  had  got 
into.  Was  Ihere  some  unrecognised  law,  that  one  cannot 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  273 

change  one's  life,  she  wondered  ?  One  must  for  ever  go  on 
in  the  same  ill-fitting  harness  of  circumstance,  though  one's 
self  is  always  changing  and  altering.  Could  she  go  back 
to  Bernard — console  him  for  her  error,  return  again  to  the 
old  groove  her  feet  had  once  known?  No.  She  felt  that 
iron,  implacable  "No"  answer  her.  Whether  it  came  from 
outside  or  within  she  was  unconscious,  but  she  knew  it  for 
an  overwhelming  truth.  She  could  never  go  back.  She 
could  not  re-enter  that  placid,  never- varying,  silent  circle  of 
quiet,  empty,  sunny  days.  Though  she  seemed  wandering 
now  in  a  dark  thicket  where  the  thorns  tore  her  flesh  and 
the  boulders  bruised  her  feet,  yet  she  felt  inevitably  she  must 
struggle  on,  either  through  it  or  die  in  it.  To  turn  back  was 
impossible.  Nor  could  she  ever  rest  in  Bernard's  arms,  or 
enjoy  that  simple,  whole-hearted,  open  love  again,  even  if 
he  could  give  it,  after  the  curious,  violent,  dark  and  devious- 
wayed  passion  she  had  known  for  Pelham. 

The  next  morning  the  early  light  found  her  there,  stiff 
and  chilled,  upon  the  floor.  She  had  had  no  sleep,  only 
been  lost  in  a  sort  of  wandering  stupor.  She  got  up  and  re- 
dressed, and  when  she  was  ready  for  breakfast,  beyond  being 
rather  pale  she  showed  no  trace  of  the  past  night's  suffering. 
Youth  can  suffer  much  without  disfigurement.  A  little 
after  eight  she  went  into  Pelham 's  room,  where  breakfast 
was  generally  laid  on  a  table  near  the  window,  and  when 
they  were  seated,  handed  him  the  letter.  Pelham  took  it 
and  read  it,  then  laid  it  down  on  the  table  without  any 
comment. 

"I  am  so  very  grieved  about  the  child,"  she  said  in  a  very 
low  voice,  stirring  the  coffee  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"Well,  it  was  a  pity  you  left  her.  Why  did  you  do  it?" 
answered  Pelham,  brutally. 

Lydia  looked  at  him  across  the  little  table:  her  face 
was  deadly  pale,  her  eyes  swam,  her  lips  quivered. 

"Why,  indeed?"  she  murmured  in  a  hardly  audible 
tone. 

They  had  their  breakfast  in  silence.  Lydia  ate  nothing, 
18 


274  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

but  she  drank  her  coffee,  and  gazed  through  the  window  to 
the  lovely  enchanting  scene  without  of  blue  sky,  and  sway- 
ing palm,  and  crystal  air. 

When  Pelham  rose  and  unfolded  the  paper  for  the  day, 
Lydia  spoke.  Her  face  was  quite  calm  now. 

"You  see  what  Bernard  says  about  the  divorce  and  our 
marriage,  but  I  don't  think  you  want  to  marry  me,  do  you  ?" 

It  was  characteristic  of  Pelham  that  he  never  answered 
any  question  direct.  He  always  met  it  with  an  evasion  or 
an  equivocation. 

"I  don't  think  I  care  about  marrying  anyone,"  he  said. 
"We  do  very  well  as  we  are." 

Lydia  said  nothing.  He  settled  himself  in  a  cane  chair 
to  read  the  paper.  She  waited  a  moment  by  the  window, 
then  went  away  to  her  own  room,  shutting  the  door  noise- 
lessly behind  her.  She  crossed  over  and  moving  some 
dresses  from  a  chair,  drew  it  to  the  window  and  sat  down 
where  the  soft  air  came  in  upon  her  face.  She  felt  very  tired 
and  broken;  a  sort  of  drowsy  sadness  seemed  to  envelop 
her  in  lethargy.  "It  is  quite  natural  that  he  should  dislike 
to  see  me  grieved  about  the  death  of  my  child  by  another 
man, "she  mused,  thinking  over  Pelham 's  answer.  "As  to  the 
marriage,  it  doesn't  really  matter.  In  this  world,  where 
all  is  so  transitory,  what  is  the  use  of  any  arrangement  that 
aims  at  permanency  ?  We  float  and  drift,  from  day  to  day, 
like  the  surf  on  the  tide,  lifted  by  one  wave,  depressed  by 
another,  now  clinging  round  this  rock,  now  round  that: 
then  we  disappear  altogether:  nothing  matters." 

Her  eyes  closed:  she  ceased  to  think  clearly.  But  in 
spite  of  what  she  had  told  herself  she  knew  that  in  her  breast 
there  was  a  passionate  joy  contained  in  the  idea  of  marriage 
with  Pelham,  a  joy  that  was  the  child  of  her  great  and  devoted 
passion  for  him.  The  thought  of  being  linked  to  him, 
bound  to  him  in  the  abstract,  gave  her  the  same  delight  as 
to  have  been  bound  to  him  actually.  Every  manner  and  form 
of  contact,  of  proximity,  of  linking  to  the  loved  one,  is  an 
ecstasy  to  the  one  who  truly  loves. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  275 

Lulled  by  the  dreamy  contemplation  of  this  rosy  joy  she 
did  not  ever  hope  to  obtain,  she  passed  gradually  into  a  gentle 
sleep,  that  sweet  tranquil  stream  where  the  burdens  of  joy 
and  pain  alike  float  from  one  and  leave  one  free.  Half  an 
hour  later  she  was  roughly  roused  by  someone  shaking  her 
arm.  She  looked  up  suddenly  and  saw  Pelham's  cross  and 
handsome  face  above  her. 

"I  have  just  decided  to  go  on  to  Aguas  Calientes  to-day 
instead  of  to-morrow.  It's  too  hot  to  make  any  expeditions 
and  I  am  tired  of  this  hotel.  We  have  just  hah*  an  hour  to 
get  to  the  station.  I've  packed  all  my  things.  I  never 
thought  you  were  in  here,  doing  nothing  all  this  time.  I  can't 
think  why  you  want  to  go  to  sleep  when  you've  only  just  gotup." 

Dazed  and  confused,  and  feeling  very  stiff,  and  rather 
sick  from  nervous  exhaustion,  Lydia  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  be  ready?"  Pelham  inquired 
harshly. 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  I  will  try,"  she  answered  as  Pelham 
disappeared.  She  looked  round  the  room  hopelessly.  It 
was  littered  and  crowded.  All  these  things  to  be  packed 
and  her  dress  changed,  for  she  was  not  in  travelling  costume, 
in  less  than  half  an  hour!  It  seemed  impossible.  Her 
head  was  swimming,  and  she  felt  unutterably  tired.  But 
her  nerve  and  force  of  will  were  splendid,  though  Pelham 
never  gave  her  credit  for  either,  and  she  forced  herself  to  the 
work  and  accomplished  it,  so  that  when  he  came  back,  in 
twenty  minutes,  she  was  ready.  All  her  things  had  been 
mercilessly  thrown  in,  but  her  trunks  were  strapped,  and 
she  was  dressed,  waiting.  He  did  not  smile  or  seem  pleased, 
as  she  had  hoped.  "I  don't  know  now  whether  we  shall 
catch  the  train,  but  it  only  takes  five  minutes  to  drive  to  the 
station.  Of  course,  one  can't  expect  to  accomplish  much 
in  travelling  if  you  want  to  sleep  all  the  time." 

Lydia  felt  inclined  to  reply  that  had  she  not  been  sleeping 
she  would  not  have  been  preparing  for  a  journey  he  had 
not  told  her  he  intended  making,  but  she  remained  silent. 
Nothing  seemed  to  matter. 


276  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

They  reached  the  station  in  time,  and  after  a  hot,  dusty, 
and  all  day  journey,  came  into  Aguas  Calientes  in  the  cool 
of  a  delicious  evening,  when  the  sky  was  glowing  a  soft  rose 
colour,  behind  the  delicate  palms  in  the  little  Plaza. 

"How  lovely,"  thought  Lydia,  stepping  from  the  heated 
carriage  on  to  the  station  platform,  and  drinking  in  the 
exquisite  clear  air.  "How  happy  I  should  be,  arriving  at 
a  place  like  this,  if  I  only  had  a  nice  companion  who  seemed 
pleased  and  happy  too." 

Aguas  is  one  of  the  most  charming  places  in  Mexico, 
famed  for  its  hot  springs  and  its  beautiful  women.  Its 
climate  seems  made  to  go  with  its  boiling  wells  and  medi- 
cinal baths.  It  is  hot,  still,  damp,  yet  delightfully  fresh, 
sweet-scented,  tropical.  Pelham  seemed  to  have  no  time 
to  notice  the  beauty  of  air  and  light.  He  was  annoyed  with 
the  porters  for  smashing  some  of  his  luggage,  and  still  more 
annoyed  to  find,  when  they  reached  the  hotel,  that  owing 
to  a  fair  being  in  progress  in  the  town  they  could  have  only 
one  room.  The  place  was  quite  full.  It  was  a  great  distress 
to  the  girl  to  note  how  much  the  fact  that  they  had  to  occupy 
this  small  space  together  seemed  to  anger  him.  When  the 
door  was  shut,  and  he  was  still  complaining  of  the  misfortune, 
she  said, — 

"Still,  Eustace,  it  is  not  so  small  as  the  tiny  little  tent, 
with  its  couch  of  pine  branches,  we  were  so  happy  in  when  I 
first  came  to  you." 

"All  things  are  different  in  their  beginnings,"  returned 
Pelham,  savagely,  pushing  one  of  his  portmanteaux  under 
the  bed. 

He,  too,  quite  well  remembered  the  tent  and  the  pine 
branch  couch,  and  the  intense  joy  he  had  felt  in  the  close 
physical  contact  with  this  woman,  but  then  at  any  moment 
he  had  thought  she  might  be  torn  from  him;  at  any  moment 
Bernard,  with  a  loaded  pistol,  might  have  appeared,  drag- 
ging back  the  tent  flap,  calling  him  out  to  combat,  perhaps 
to  death.  There  was  an  excitement  in  that  that  roused  and 
pleased  his  whole  savage,  jealous,  courageous  nature,  but 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  277 

now  that  fierce  excitement  was  taking  its  toll.  It  was  over, 
and  he  felt  he  wanted,  not  pleasure  but  rest.  She  could 
give  one  and  not  the  other.  The  very  sweet  seduction 
about  her  prevented  it.  So  in  a  sort  of  self-defence,  for  fear 
he  should  yield  to  her  influence,  he  hedged  himself  about 
with  cruelty,  with  spiked  words  and  thorny  looks  and  manner. 

The  girl  took  off  her  hat  and  sat  down  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  room.  It  appealed  to  her,  this  Mexican  room,  so 
unlike  anything  European.  How  high  it  was!  with  a 
vaulted,  groined  ceiling,  painted  blue,  and  stencilled  in  rude 
design,  bare  stone  walls  all  washed  over  with  bright  pink, 
a  massive  oak  door  arched  at  the  top,  a  large  high  window 
with  vertical  iron  bars  before  it,  an  uneven  red  brick  floor 
with  felt  carpeting  over  the  centre.  The  two  door  casements 
of  the  window  stood  open  to  the  soft,  still  night,  the  blind 
was  drawn  down,  through  it  came  the  conversation  of  some 
natives  seated  on  the  sill  outside.  Against  one  wall  stood 
a  large  fourpost  bed,  all  draped  in  pink — pink  curtains  and 
quilts  and  valance  and  mosquito  curtains — to  match  the 
walls.  A  round  table,  covered  with  a  pink  cloth,  and  on 
which  stood  the  powerful  lamp  that  lighted  them,  was  on 
the  other  side  of  the  room  before  a  very  large  and  comfortable 
easy  chair;  a  high  and  artistic  screen  intervened  between 
the  table  and  the  oak  door;  the  centre  of  the  room  was  left 
free.  Other  chairs,  and  a  high  oak  chest,  stood  against  the 
walls,  and  two  little  wire  stands  for  washing  at,  occupied 
the  corners.  She  could  not  tell  why  she  liked  the  room. 
If  he  had  seemed  content  she  would  have  felt  quite  happy. 

In  Mexican  country  inns  the  meals  for  each  person  are 
served  in  the  private  rooms,  and  after  a  minute  the  fat  Mexi- 
can servant  brought  in  their  supper  tray,  setting  it  by  the 
lamp  on  the  pink  table.  A  band  was  playing  gaily  in  the 
Plaza  not  far  from  the  hotel.  The  conversation  on  the  sill 
outside  dropped  to  whispers,  interspersed  with  low  laughter. 
"Two  lovers  talking,  I  expect."  thought  Lydia,  sadly. 

They  had  their  supper  almost  in  silence.  Pelham 
looked  pale,  cross  and  tired,  as  usual.  The  girl  was  afraid 


278  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

he  was  feeling  ill,  and  beyond  answering  any  remark  he 
made  with  a  bright  smile,  said  nothing.  Her  own  fatigue 
had  passed  off  and  she  felt  well,  in  spite  of  sleeplessness  and 
long  journeys,  with  the  irrepressible  "wellness"  of  youth. 
The  soft,  romantic  air  of  the  place  delighted  her.  Oh,  to 
have  had  a  companion  pleased  like  herself,  receptive  to  the 
joys  of  climate,  and  scene,  and  change!  to  have  gone  out 
under  the  palms  and  orange  trees  and  heard  words  of  love 
murmured  in  her  ear,  an  under-current  to  the  wild  Spanish 
music. 

After  supper  Pelham  threw  off  his  clothes  and  went  to 
bed. 

"I  should  like  you  to  put  out  the  lamp  as  soon  as  you 
can,"  he  remarked,  and  Lydia  extinguished  the  light  and 
went  to  bed  too.  Pelham  was  asleep  in  a  moment  but  she 
lay  wide  awake.  Her  neuralgia  did  not  come  to  her  that 
night.  She  lay  listening  to  the  low  love-conversation  and 
love-laughter  coming  from  the  sill  without,  and  her  eyes 
were  wide  open  and  full  of  tears. 

Their  stay  at  Aguas,  intended  to  be  of  a  few  days  only, 
was  lengthened  into  three  months,  for  Pelham  was  struck 
down  there  suddenly  with  typhoid  fever,  the  seeds  of  which 
he  had  probably  taken  with  him  from  the  city  of  Mexico, 
which  is  full  of  it. 

When  Lydia  realised  the  illness  and  its  true  nature,  and 
the  first  cold  terror  we  all  feel  when  a  beloved  object  is 
attacked  had  passed  over,  her  whole  nature  rose  to  grapple 
with  the  situation.  She  felt  sure  she  could  save  him,  and 
she  welcomed  this  opportunity  to  prove  her  love  to  him. 
"Let  me  turn  an  evil  into  a  good,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
"and  make  this  illness  a  link  of  union  between  us."  She 
was  indefatigable,  devoted  beyond  all  belief,  and  her  whole 
mind,  soul  and  will  bent  to  the  one  single  effort  of  giving  him 
back  his  health.  This  attitude  of  a  nurse,  of  a  constant 
companion  in  sickness,  who  shall  say  how  far-reaching  its 
effect  on  the  patient,  in  itself,  may  be  ?  Very  little  do  we 
know  of  the  forces  of  hypnotism  and  telepathy,  and  it  may 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  279 

well  be  difficult  to  die  in  an  atmosphere  charged  with  the 
electricity  of  another  determined  we  shall  live.  Lydia  ob- 
tained the  best  doctor  the  place  afforded,  and  had  his  drugs 
carefully  made  up  and  regularly  administered,  but  she  did 
not  put  her  trust  in  him,  nor  in  them,  but  in  herself,  in  her 
constant  attendance  on  her  patient,  in  her  noting  of  every 
sign  and  symptom,  anticipating  of  every  want,  combating 
every  little  rise  in  temperature,  every  unfavourable  tendency, 
as  soon  as  it  appeared,  saving  every  degree  of  strength  gained, 
and,  through  all,  intensely  willing  him  to  live.  Excitement 
and  terror  lent  her  new  physical  strength.  She  slept  by 
snatches  when  she  could,  between  the  hours  for  giving  food 
and  medicine.  She  hardly,  in  all  that  time,  left  that  one 
room.  The  days  of  soft  sweet  air  and  sunlight  went  gaily  on 
outside,  the  band  played  in  the  Plaza,  the  Mexicans  sat  and 
giggled,  evening  after  evening,  on  the  sill  outside,  and  within 
that  one  room  the  lonely  girl  fought  desperately,  hour  by 
hour,  day  and  night,  with  death  for  three  months,  and 
conquered. 

One  great  surprise  came  to  her  during  this  time,  a  joy 
that  bloomed  suddenly  like  a  rose  in  the  desert;  she  found 
that  Eustace,  so  hard  and  cruel  while  well  and  independent, 
dereloped  in  illness  a  patience  and  gentleness  that  seemed 
to  her  amazing,  and  woke  in  her  a  still  stronger  passion  of 
affection.  He  never  spoke  crossly  or  harshly  to  her  now, 
and  hardly  ever  complained.  That  consideration  which 
he  had  never  showed  while  they  were  both  well  he  displayed 
now  amidst  his  own  sufferings  to  an  unusual  degree.  He 
never  called  to  her  or  broke  her  rest  when  she  lay  at  his  feet 
in  one  of  her  short  slumbers.  Whatever  he  wanted  he 
would  never  awaken  her:  as  he  grew  better  he  begged  her 
to  go  out,  to  get  air  and  exercise,  to  leave  him  to  a  nurse. 
His  overbearing  ill-temper  had  entirely  vanished.  As  a 
patient  he  was  one  in  a  thousand,  and  Lydia  felt  it  instinc- 
tively. Such  patient  resignation  and  gentle  consideration 
under  the  stress  of  great  physical  suffering  she  knew  were 
not  usual.  Studied  psychologically  this  attitude  of  Pelham's 


280  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

was  not  really  surprising,  nor  at  variance  with  his  character, 
but  was  the  natural  outcome  of  it.  It  was  his  nature  to  be 
hard  towards  those  beneath  him,  in  his  power,  or  dependent 
on  him.  To  those  independent  of  him,  or  on  whom  he  in 
any  way  depended,  it  was  natural  to  him  to  show  his  best 
side.  In  illness,  feeling  as  he  felt  now,  absolutely  helpless 
and  prostrate,  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  misuse,  ill-treat,  or 
in  any  way  alienate  the  only  being  who  stood  between  him 
and  destruction,  in  whose  power  he  found  himself.  It  was 
not  in  any  way  with  him  cunning  or  cowardice  that  led  him 
to  change  his  way  of  conduct.  The  change  came  about 
naturally.  This  girl,  with  her  health,  strength  and  activity, 
her  ability  to  abandon  him  if  she  chose,  became  for  the  time 
being  superior  to  him  stretched  helpless  on  a  sick  bed,  and  he 
admired  what  was  superior  to  himself,  out  of  his  sphere  of 
influence,  above  his  power.  Gratitude  to  her  that  she  was 
so  faithful,  so  devoted  to  him,  and  the  knowledge  that  came 
to  him  in  his  helplessness  of  how  comforting  this  warm, 
ardent  love  was  to  lean  upon,  gave  him  strength  and  resolu- 
tion to  restrain  all  selfishness  and  impatience,  and  to  lighten 
the  load  for  her  that  she  carried  so  well.  Those  days,  full 
though  they  were  of  stress  and  strain  and  terror-stricken 
anxiety,  yet  were  made  light  to  her,  blessed  by  the  relief 
from  his  unkindness,  easier  than  the  preceding  ones  had 
been.  At  the  end  of  one  afternoon  shortly  after  Pelham 
had  been  declared  out  of  all  danger,  and  was  already  pro- 
gressing rapidly  in  convalescence,  Lydia,  feeling  a  great 
fatigue  sweeping  over  her,  threw  herself  into  the  large  arm- 
chair beneath  the  window  and  leant  back  in  it.  The  warm 
sunset  glow  was  filling  the  whole  room  with  rose-coloured 
light,  the  drooping  boughs  of  an  accacia,  just  outside  the 
window,  swayed  in  it.  All  was  very  still.  On  the  bed  at 
the  other  side  of  the  room  Pelham  lay  silent.  She  thought 
he  was  sleeping.  Very  tired  indeed  she  felt,  very  thin,  she 
seemed  to  herself  as  if  made  of  paper.  Her  lids  fell  a  little, 
she  was  sinking  to  sleep,  when  a  call  from  the  bed  roused  her. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  981 

She  started  up  and  crossed  the  room,  expecting  some  request 
for  water,  or  medicine,  or  food.  When  she  reached  the 
bedside  she  saw  Pelham  lying  there  wide-eyed,  a  curiously 
intense  expression  on  his  expressive  face.  He  stretched  out 
both  arms  to  her.  In  an  instant  she  saw  that  he  wanted 
nothing  but  herself,  her  caresses,  and  bent  over  and  kissed 
him.  He  folded  his  arms  tightly  round  her,  and  mur- 
mured into  the  little  ear,  as  she  laid  her  head  down  on  his 
breast, — 

"I  have  been  lying  here  a  long  time,  thinking  only  of 
you,  how  good  you  have  been  to  me  all  this  long  time,  of  all 
I  owe  to  you.  My  little  girl,  but  for  you  I  should  not  be  here. 
You  have  given  me  back  my  life." 

The  tones  of  the  voice  she  loved  were  so  exquisitely 
tender,  so  tense  with  feeling,  the  hand  he  put  on  her  hair 
was  so  gentle,  so  full  of  the  electricity  of  love  and  passion, 
that  for  those  few  moments  the  gates  of  heaven  swung  wide, 
the  girl  was  lifted  into  it,  and  anything  she  might  have  suffered 
seemed  as  nothing — vanished,  gone,  lost  in  joy.  For  the 
moment  she  could  not  answer  at  all,  and  then  the  tears 
came  with  her  words. 

"I  am  so  happy  to  have  done  anything  for  you,"  she 
murmured,  and  he  felt  her  warm  tears  flow  over  his  neck. 
"As  for  your  life,  if  I  could  not  have  saved  it  my  own  would 
have  ceased  to  be  any  use  to  me.  You  don't  know  how  I 
love  you.  I  want  nothing  in  this  world  to  make  me  perfectly 
happy  except  that  you  should  be  kind  and  nice  to  me." 

Pelham  did  not  answer,  but  she  felt  his  folding  arms 
close  more  tightly  round  her,  and  his  heart  beating  beneath 
her  head  in  great  throbs.  Something,  some  subtle  influence, 
seemed  to  pass  from  him  to  her,  that  was  far  more  to  her 
than  words.  Love — still  less  passion — does  not  require  any 
form  of  expression  to  prove  its  existence.  Its  wonderful 
ray  can  be  felt,  life-giving,  inspiring,  as  the  furnace  blast 
of  hate  can  be  felt  without  forms  or  words,  death-dealing, 
annihilating. 


282  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Don't  move,"  he  whispered,  as  she  stirred,  fearing 
her  weight  would  be  too  much  on  his  heart.  "Sleep  here, 
I  know  you  are  very  tired.  And  you  have  grown  so  thin 
and  slight!  and  lost  all  your  lovely  bloom,  watching  and 
nursing  me!  Sleep  now,  and  I  will  watch  over  you.  Sleep 
in  my  arms,  darling,  darling." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PELHAM  had  entirely  recovered.  His  illness  was  now  a 
thing  of  the  past.  He  had  grown  tired  of  America  and  had 
announced  his  intention  of  going  to  Europe,  to  which  Lydia 
had,  as  usual,  assented.  A  change  had  come  over  her  feel- 
ings towards  him,  a  change  so  gradual,  so  imperceptible, 
that  she  herself  was  not  conscious  of  it  till  long  after  its 
inception.  Her  passion,  after  a  long  decline,  had  died. 
Overwhelming  as  it  had  been  at  first,  full  of  a  strength  that 
it  seemed  nothing  could  kill,  persistent  starvation  and  re- 
pression had  weakened  it,  and  finally  brought  it  to  its  death- 
bed. Then  Pelham's  illness  had  come,  his  helplessness, 
his  dependence,  and  his  wonderful  change  in  his  treatment 
of  her.  Her  dying  passion  had  flamed  up  to  its  old  height; 
his  weakness,  his  danger,  called  out  instantly  those  inex- 
haustible reserves  of  tenderness  and  love  that  were  in  her 
nature.  No  resentment  against  him  existed,  it  was  all  swept 
away,  and  at  any  moment  in  those  weeks  of  devotion,  in  that 
steadfast  and  ultimately  victorious  battle  against  his  illness, 
she  would  willingly,  delightedly,  have  offered  her  life  for  his. 
When  the  struggle  was  over  and  victory  hers  it  seemed  as 
if  a  new  era  had  dawned  for  their  love.  In  that  first  embrace, 
when  Pelham  had  poured  his  thanks  into  her  ear,  her  love 
for  him  had  reached  its  highest  point.  Intensely  grateful 
herself  by  nature,  gratitude  from  another  always  came  to 
her  as  a  delighting  surprise,  as  an  overwhelming  bounty, 
not  as  a  due.  What  she  had  done  seemed  little  to  herself, 
for,  from  her  point  of  view  she  could  have  done  nothing 
else.  Loyalty  and  duty  would  have  forced  her  to  put  out 
every  effort,  to  almost  kill  herself  in  the  struggle  to  pre- 


284  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

serve  the  life  of  the  man  with  whom  she  was  living,  and  from 
whom  she  accepted  food  and  clothes,  even  if  love  had  not. 
She  felt  she  had  only  done  what  she  must,  from  her  nature, 
do,  and  she  was  more  grateful  to  him  for  his  gratitude  than 
he  was  to  her  for  saving  his  life.  Closely  drawn  together  as 
they  were  for  the  first  few  days  after  his  recovery,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  at  last  happiness  in  each  other,  and  in  life,  had  come 
to  them.  But  the  union  did  not  last.  Pelham,  more  than 
ever  satisfied  that  this  woman  loved  him  as  no  other  had 
done,  and  thinking  falsely,  as  so  many  do,  that  the  strongest, 
most  devoted  love  is  also  the  longest  lived,  instinctively  felt 
that  no  effort  on  his  part  was  needed  to  preserve  it.  As  he 
got  better  and  his  health  and  strength  returned  his  feelings 
of  independence  came  back  with  them,  and  his  gentleness 
and  consideration  disappeared. 

There  are  three  classes  of  people:  the  first  includes 
those  who  are  naturally  sunny,  bright  and  good-tempered, 
and  very  rarely  feel,  or  wish  to  be,  anything  else.  The 
second  contains  those  who  are  naturally  unamiable  and  bad- 
tempered,  but  generally  succeed  in  controlling  themselves 
and  appearing  the  reverse.  The  third  class  consists  of 
those  who,  being  naturally  ill-tempered  and  irritable,  make 
no  effort,  or,  at  anyrate,  futile  ones,  to  be  anything  different. 

Pelham  was  of  a  nature  that  was  easily  annoyed,  and 
though  no  one  could  control  himself  better  when  it  was 
necessary,  since  he  had  found  a  companion  who  was  in- 
variably amiable  to  him,  whatever  his  own  actions,  it  seemed 
he  could  allow  himself  the  luxury  of  being  disagreeable 
whenever  he  felt  so,  which  in  his  case  was  nearly  always. 
After  his  illness  and  during  the  great  reaction  that  neces- 
sarily followed,  in  the  girl's  whole  system,  the  great  strain 
she  had  been  through  when  she  found  his  apparent  dis- 
satisfaction with  everything,  herself  included,  continued 
when  his  fault-finding  and  harshness  recommenced  after 
that  brief  re-union,  when  nothing  she  did,  or  said,  or  looked, 
or  wore  pleased  him,  when  he  seemed  to  grudge  everything 
he  gave  her,  and  any  passing  indisposition  of  her  own  seemed 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  285 

to  him  to  be  a  reason  for  putting  some  extra  strain  upon  her, 
and  insisting  on  her  doing  something  she  was  particularly 
unfitted  for,  when  all  this  went  on  from  day  to  day,  though 
it  was  generally  but  small  matters  that  were  involved,  the 
flame  of  passion  that  had  risen  so  high  during  his  illness 
died  down  lower  and  lower  and  finally  went  out. 

When  she  first  became  conscious  of  this  it  seemed  to 
her  an  immensely  fortunate  thing.  She  rejoiced.  She  was 
free.  Free  from  what  had  made  a  painful  bondage.  It 
did  not  come  to  her  knowledge  suddenly.  It  dawned  upon 
her  by  degrees  that  she  was  becoming  indifferent.  Formerly 
an  unkind  word  from  him  had  made  the  colour  rush  to  her 
face  and  the  tears  to  her  eyes,  now  she  found  herself  able  to 
smile  lightly.  His  words  did  not  bite  deeply.  Formerly, 
crazily  anxious  as  she  was  to  please  him,  every  detail  of  her 
dress  had  been  shown  to  him,  eagerly,  hopefully,  while  she 
had  longed  for  his  approval,  and  her  heart  had  been  torn  and 
wounded  beyond  description  by  his  cutting  remarks,  his 
invariably  adverse  judgments.  Now  she  so  entirely  expected 
pain  from  his  opinions  that  she  rarely  referred  to  him  on  any 
personal  point,  and  when  he  volunteered  harsh  criticisms 
they  fell  upon  her  unmoved. 

Some  faint  warning  of  vague  change  came  to  Pelham's 
own  mind  on  one  of  these  latter  occasions,  when  she  appeared 
to  accompany  him  on  a  walking  expedition  wearing  a  new 
hat. 

"I  don't  like  that  hat  at  all,"  was  his  first  remark,  as 
usual. 

"No?"  returned  Lydia,  quietly.  "But  then  you  never 
do  like  anything  I  wear."  She  spoke  very  gently,  without 
the  faintest  touch  of  resentment,  as  if  she  was  stating  a 
natural,  undisputed  fact.  And  though  there  was  a  sort  of 
polite  hint  of  regret  in  the  tone,  the  look  of  acute  pain  he  had 
enjoyed  seeing  pass  over  her  face,  the  vivid  flush,  the  tears 
in  the  hurt  eyes,  were  quite  absent  now.  She  realised, 
herself,  that  he  was  losing  the  power  to  pain  or  grieve  her. 
That  knowledge  came  as  a  great  relief.  To  be  free  from 


286  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

pain,  either  mental  or  physical,  after  a  long  experience  of 
it,  is  a  divine  joy.  But  after  this  came  the  sudden  revelation, 
that  he  was  losing  also  the  power  to  please  her,  that  she  now 
was,  mentally,  as  a  stone,  upon  which  his  hand  might  fall 
either  with  blow  or  caress  and  leave  both  unfelt.  This  last 
knowledge  came  to  her,  and  she  saw  by  degrees  that  it  de- 
vastated her  life  with  him. 

At  first  she  welcomed  the  fact  that  she  could  say  good- 
night to  him  indifferent  whether  they  kissed  or  not,  and 
then  sleep  tranquilly,  alone,  until  the  dawn,  that  she  could 
wake  up  refreshed  and  fit  to  begin  the  day,  that  she  need 
not  hurry  so  desperately  over  her  dressing,  her  poor  heart 
beating,  her  fingers  shaking  with  fear  lest  she  should  be  a 
moment  late  and  so  displease  him;  she  was  glad  that  she 
could  dress  as  she  pleased,  and  know  that  she  did  not  care 
whether  he  praised  or  blamed.  She  was  free  to  take  an 
interest  in  what  was  going  forward,  in  their  expeditions,  in 
the  fun  she  could  get  for  herself  out  of  the  day;  she  no 
longer  was  exclusively  wrapped  up  in  the  vain  endeavour 
to  content  and  please  him.  At  first  all  this  seemed  an  ad- 
vantage. But  after  a  little  time  she  saw  that  to  live  this  life 
with  him,  without  that  soul  of  passion  that  had  at  first  inflamed 
it,  was  like  clasping  to  one's  breast  the  dead  body  from  which 
life  has  departed.  She  looked  back  now,  with  regret,  to  the 
anguished  nights  when  she  had  walked  up  and  down  her 
room,  longing  for  the  simplest  caress,  the  merest  kind  word 
from  him,  to  rest  one  moment  in  his  arms  and  be  close  to 
him.  Because  then,  at  least,  while  she  had  lived  in  hell, 
there  had  been  paradise  above  her.  In  those  rare  moments 
when  all  misunderstandings  were  cleared  away,  and  when 
Pelham  sought  her,  she  had  been  divinely  happy  and  repaid 
for  all  the  past  pain.  Now,  it  was  true  there  was  no  more 
hell,  but  also  there  was  no  more  heaven.  Paradise  had 
vanished.  The  power  had  passed  from  Pelham  to  give 
either  to  her.  Passion,  that  makes  both  hell  and  heaven, 
had  left  her,  and  there  was  now  only  an  ordinary,  common- 
place earth,  which  would  never  content  her. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  287 

"If  I  only  cared  for  him  less,"  she  had  thought,  over  and 
over  again  in  the  past.  Now  she  found,  freed  from  her 
passion  for  him,  life  was  empty,  unlivable. 

Self-controlled  as  she  naturally  was,  she  gave  no  outward 
sign  of  the  change  that  had  slowly  taken  place  in  her,  and 
Pelham,  never  given  to  observing  others  closely,  was  quite 
unaware  of  the  revolution  his  own  acts  had  brought  about 
in  the  kingdom  once  so  absolutely  his  own.  He  noticed 
that  the  girl  never  sought  him  when  he  did  not  wish  it, 
and  was  relieved  by  the  fact,  but  she  accepted  his  presence 
and  his  caresses,  when  he  offered  them,  so,  in  seeming,  life 
was  smoother  than  before. 

But,  inwardly,  the  girl  was  filled  with  a  great  wonder, 
a  questioning,  an  indecision,  and  finally,  out  of  this  con- 
tinual questioning  and  wondering  thought,  the  decision 
grew  in  her  mind,  sharp  and  clear,  to  leave  Pelham  at  the 
first  opportunity  Fate  offered. 

"I  have  tried  my  very  utmost,"  she  thought,  "and  failed. 
He  does  not  love  me,  and  I  have  come  to  the  point  where  I 
do  not  love  him.  There  is  no  use  in  any  further  effort.  If 
I  won  his  love  now  I  should  not  want  it,  for  my  own  is  gone. 
There  is  no  use  in  remaining  together." 

And  with  a  certain  virility  of  thought  and  strength  that 
was  always  hers  she  put  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  her  relation 
with  Pelham  from  her  mind,  and  formed  the  determination 
to  take  the  next  turning  onward  that  opened  on  either  side 
of  the  road  she  was  now  travelling 


CHAPTER  XXin 

SITTING  on  the  verandah  of  the  Summer  Palace  at  Therapia, 
Lydia  watched  with  dreaming  eyes,  the  sheen  of  yellow 
sunlight  play  on  the  Bosphorus.  It  was  a  very  still  afternoon; 
the  pale  blue  of  the  Turkish  sky  stretched  above,  without  the 
smallest  fleck  of  cloud,  and  the  usually  rolling,  tumbling, 
riotous  blue  waters  of  the  Bosphorus  lay  absolutely  still 
and  tranquil,  a  mirror  of  burnished  gold.  Above  her  head 
stretched  out  the  dark  blue-green  branches  of  some  gigantic 
pines,  throwing  a  delicate  shade  upon  her,  thrusting  their 
smooth  red  boughs  up  into  the  hot  blue  light  above.  From 
the  garden  at  the  back  of  the  hotel  came  the  scent  of  flowers 
and  the  hum  of  bees.  She  sat  there  alone,  filled  with  the 
sense  of  enjoyment  of  Life. 

A  waiter  came  up  to  her  and  asked  if  she  would  have 
tea  there.  No,  she  would  wait  till  Mr  Pelham  returned, 
and  at  that  moment  she  saw  Eustace  coming  up  the  road 
towards  the  hotel  with  another  man.  In  a  few  minutes 
more  they  were  both  on  the  balcony  beside  her,  and  she 
heard  Eustace  introduce  the  other  as  Mr  Ivan  Blakney. 
She  looked  up,  and  a  feeling  of  pleased  surprise  ran  through 
her.  Something  that  had  long  been  asleep  within  suddenly 
woke  up.  It  was  as  if  a  silver  bell  had  been  sounded  in  her 
brain,  stirring  a  thousand  sleeping  emotions  into  life.  Her 
eyes  fixed  for  a  moment  on  the  man's  face,  and  she  realised 
fully  all  its  beauty.  A  very  white  skin,  that  warm,  clear 
white  that  had  first  so  captured  her  vision  in  Bernard's 
face,  on  which  the  brown  eyebrows  showed  so  clearly,  eye- 
brows drawn  in  two  straight  sweeping  lines,  delicate  and 
well  defined,  across  the  flat,  wide  forehead.  Brown  hair 

288 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  289 

above,  full  of  gold  lights;  blue-grey  eyes,  now  full  of  warm, 
smiling  admiration;  straight,  delicate  features,  finely  cut, 
and  the  scarlet  line  of  the  mouth,  all  these  things  pierced 
her  senses  with  pleasure,  in  that  first  swift  look  at  him. 

They  all  took  chairs  at  the  edge  of  the  balcony,  and  tea 
was  brought  to  them.  Lydia  poured  out  the  tea,  waves  of 
gay  merriment  rising  in  her,  and  the  newcomer  laughed, 
and  joked,  and  jested,  and  chattered,  and  she  responded. 
Eustace,  looking  rather  tired  and  haggard,  took  his  tea  in 
silence,  and  looked  out  over  the  blue  waters,  gloomy  and  cross 
as  usual.  For  once  Lydia  was  not  affected  by  his  gloom. 
Nothing  seemed  able  to  check  that  joyous  uprising  of  spirits 
within  her.  It  was  good  to  be  with  someone  again  who 
laughed,  who  seemed  well  and  strong  and  gay,  and  full  of 
the  joy  of  life,  and  she  gave  herself  over  to  gaiety,  looking  at 
this  bright  face,  all  white  and  gold,  between  her  and  the  blue 
spaces  beyond  the  balcony.  She  was  as  attentive  to  Eustace 
as  usual,  constantly  referring  to  him  and  drawing  him  into 
the  conversation,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  both  the  younger 
people  when  he  rose,  saying  he  had  letters  to  write,  and  went 
into  the  hotel. 

By  this  time  Blakney  had  told  her  something  of  himself 
and  his  nationality,  half-Russian,  half-English,  and  Lydia, 
looking  at  him,  realised  that  from  the  Russian  side  had 
come  that  glorious  white  and  gold  colouring,  that  marble  skin 
and  light  in  the  hair:  then  he  told  her  of  his  broken  career, 
just  shortly  in  a  few  words,  with  jests  between,  how  he  had 
been  ir  the  Army,  sent  in  his  papers  in  a  fit  of  passion,  and 
now  was  a  penniless  guest  of  the  Consul  there:  how  he  in- 
tended to  go  out  to  the  wilds,  Australia,  America,  somewhere 
to  make  his  fortune,  or  to  return  to  England  and  writej  books 
for  a  living,  and  how  he  was  now  just  drifting  on  Life's 
stream  where  the  sunlight  played.  Lydia  listened,  inter- 
ested, he  talked  so  well  and  brightly,  and  such  a  sweeping 
smile,  full  of  light,  passed  over  his  face  constantly:  his  manner 
was  so  simple,  so  unaffected,  he  seemed  so  unconscious  of 
self.  When  the  waiter  came  to  take  the  tea  things  they  both 


290  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

rose  regretfully,  and  then,  immediately,  Blakney  found  an 
excuse  to  linger  by  her. 

"You  know,  of  course,  the  view  from  the  hill  behind 
the  hotel,  but  I  have  never  seen  it.  Won't  you  come  up  there 
with  me  ?  Such  an  evening  as  this  the  Bosphorus  must  look 
splendid  from  there." 

Lydia  hesitated. 

"If  you  wait  for  me  a  minute  I  will  come.  I  will  tell 
Eustace  I  am  going." 

She  turned  away,  and  Blakney  leant  his  arms  on  the 
balcony  rail,  looking  over.  "What  a  lovely,  lovely  face," 
he  mused,  "cheeks  like  velvet  and  the  colour  of  the  Turkish 
rose  in  spring." 

He  gazed  absently  into  the  golden  sheen,  before,  above, 
beneath  him,  for  the  balcony  is  high  and  seems  to  swing  in 
space. 

Lydia  entered  the  hotel  and  found  Eustace,  deeply  occu- 
pied, in  the  writing-room. 

"I  am  going  up  the  hill  with  Mr  Blakney.  You  don't 
mind,  do  you  ? "  she  asked  softly,  standing  by  him,  a  vision 
of  beauty  in  her  white,  loose-falling  draperies  in  the  darkened 
room.  Eustace  looked  up. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said,  and  went  on  with  his  writing. 

Lydia  turned,  and  when  she  had  reached  the  balcony 
again  her  feet  seemed  to  spring  as  she  approached  her  com- 
panion. 

They  went  up  the  hill  together,  through  the  blaze  of 
hot  light.  A  narrow  path  led  through  the  shady,  flower- 
filled  garden  and  then  wound  gently  up  a  rugged  hillside,  all 
fern  and  pines  and  mossy  rocks  and  long  grass.  She  glanced 
at  him  as  he  walked  beside  her,  tall  and  lithe  and  full  of 
grace,  and  all  the  old  delicious  feelings  that  had  first  crowded 
on  her,  when  she  and  Bernard  had  walked  together  amongst 
the  English  hills,  came  floating  up  within  her  again.  Wrong- 
doing and  trouble,  self-reproach  and  disappointment,  all 
had  crushed  down  her  heart,  and  left  her  in  that  dejected 
condition  in  which  most  human  beings  seem  to  live  and  die; 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  291 

but  it  was  a  very  young  heart,  and  now,  in  a  moment,  it 
sprang  upward  again  at  the  touch  of  joy.  She  felt  pleased, 
glad,  elated,  she  could  not  say  why,  nor  did  she  seek  a  reason. 
Like  one  shut  up  some  time  in  a  cold,  dark  room,  and  then 
brought  out  into  the  sunlight,  her  heart  seemed  dancing 
joyfully  with  irresponsible  happiness. 

They  reached  the  summit  in  time  to  see  the  sun  set  in  a 
wonderful  violet  glory  over  the  smooth  mirror  of  the  waters, 
and  descended  in  the  deep  rose  afterglow  that  followed, 
laughing  and  chatting,  each  feeling  deeply  interested,  in 
the  other's  most  trifling  remarks,  wonderfully  amused  at 
the  other's  jokes.  Though  they  had  had  an  hour's  walk 
it  seemed  only  a  few  moments  that  they  had  been  together 
when  they  stood  again  in  the  hotel  balcony.  Pelham  was 
there,  reading  a  paper.  He  did  not  invite  Blakney  to  dinner, 
so  the  latter  departed  after  a  sudden  quick  pressure  of  Lydia's 
hand  as  it  lay  in  his,  and  a  look  into  her  eyes  of  longing,  of 
admiration,  of  tender  worship  that  recalled  to  her  her  happiest 
hours. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  after,  and  for  many  days  in 
succession,  Blakney  called  at  the  Summer  Palace,  and  had 
afternoon  tea  with  the  Pelhams  on  the  balcony.  As  they 
were  nearly  always  in  themselves  at  this  hour,  they  could 
not  very  well  have  avoided  his  society  had  they  wished, 
and  there  was  no  question  of  invitation,  since  Blakney 
simply  came,  as  many  others  of  the  English  in  Constanti- 
nople, to  have  his  afternoon  tea  there,  and  paid  for  the  same. 
It  was  quite  natural,  of  course,  that  the  waiters,  knowing 
them  to  be  acquainted,  always  put  his  table  and  that  of  the 
Pelhams  close  together.  Pelham  made  no  objection,  and 
the  afternoon  hour  passed  pleasantly  enough.  To  Lydia, 
a  new  light  had  come  into  her  life;  she  knew  she  was  again 
in  that  mystic  shop  of  Life,  another  glittering  bauble  in  her 
hand,  again  her  eyes  were  ravished  by  all  the  array  of  shining 
toys.  Perhaps  this  tune  she  would  be  more  fortunate: 
perhaps  happiness  was  before  her.  The  duty  and  the  effort 
of  pleasing  Pelham,  without  return,  had  become  dull  and 


292  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

burdensome.  She  felt  she  could  lay  him  down  now,  as  a 
child  lays  down  its  old  toy  when  choosing  a  new  one. 

One  afternoon  Pelham  was  out — he  had  gone  into  Con- 
stantinople on  business — when  Blakney  came,  and  she  sa\v 
by  the  colour  that  came  and  went  in  his  cheek,  when  he 
found  her  alone,  by  the  blaze  of  his  eyes,  he  would  tell  her 
in  words  all  that  he  had  been  saying  otherwise  since  he 
first  saw  her.  She  looked  radiant,  and  felt  a  wild  rejoicing 
within  her,  as  a  captured  lark  may  feel  when  liberated  again 
in  the  sunlight.  They  took  their  tea  in  almost  silence,  and 
immediately  it  was  over  Blakney  said  simply, — 

"Will  you  come  to  the  top  of  our  hill  with  me?"  And 
she  assented. 

They  walked  up  slowly,  and  when  about  half  way  up, 
towards,  as  it  seemed,  the  fiery  heavens,  and  the  earth  and 
the  still  blue  water  seemed  to  swing  in  space  below  them, 
he  said, — 

"Lydia,  you  know  already  how  I  love  you,  will  you 
marry  me?" 

Lydia  paused  and  looked  at  him,  her  face  white  in  the 
fire  of  the  sunset.  Then  he  knew  her  story:  knew  her 
relation  to  Pelham  was  not  marriage!  She  had  thought 
that  perhaps  he  guessed  it.  Still,  it  was  a  shock  to  find 
that  he  felt  so  absolutely  sure  of  it,  had  done  so  from  the 
first. 

"What  makes  you  think  I  can  marry  you  or  anyone?" 
she  asked  with  a  little  smile,  facing  him. 

Blakney  bent  forward  impulsively  and  took  her  hand. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  have  offended  you.  I  feel  so  sure  you 
are  not  married  to  Pelham,  and  I  can't  think  why  you  should 
stay  with  him.  He  is  so  hateful  to  you,  such  a  brute.  And 
you,  you  could  have  anyone,  anyone  you  liked.  Why  do 
you  stay  with  him?  I  know  he  is  rich,  but  you  are  not  a 
woman  who  would  sell  herself;  besides,  you  have  no  need 
to.  Any  man  you  smiled  upon  almost  would  be  your  slave." 

He  poured  the  words  out  in  an  eager,  passionate  stream: 
his  face  and  eyes  were  alight.  She  looked  at  him  for  a 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  293 

second,  hesitating.  Before  she  could  answer  he  had  stooped 
forward  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  passionately,  yet  rever- 
ently, as  a  fanatic  might  kiss  a  shrine. 

"Say  'Yes,'  say  you  will  marry  me.  You  shall  never 
regret  it.  I  have  nothing  now,  but  I  love  you  and  will  work 
for  you  and  worship  you.  Kiss  me  and  say  'Yes.' " 

He  drew  her  towards  him,  and  she  lifted  her  arms  and 
put  them  softly  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him.  After  two 
barren  years,  in  that  time  of  life  which  is  most  hungry  for 
love,  the  touch  of  his  lips  on  hers  thrilled  her,  and  seemed  to 
fill  her  with  life,  as  the  spring  in  the  desert  thrills  the  parched 
mouth  of  the  traveller,  and  the  beauty  of  the  face  above 
her  seemed  to  carry  her  senses  away  on  a  stream  of  volup- 
tuous pleasure,  just  as  a  glorious  melody  sweeps  the  senses 
along  in  a  flood  of  joy. 

Blakney  felt  all  the  Russian  blood  in  his  veins  turn  to 
fire  at  her  kiss,  and  held  her  to  him  in  an  ecstasy  as  the  sky 
flamed  over  them.  He  did  not  notice  that  she  said  noth- 
ing, gave  no  promise.  He  was  content  that  she  accepted  his 
caresses  and  yielded  hers.  To  hold  so  lovely  a  thing  in  his 
arms,  and  feel,  even  for  a  moment,  it  was  his  own,  gave  an 
intoxicating  delight.  And  she,  realising  in  those  moments 
the  great  flood-tide  of  pleasure  she  sent  through  all  his  being, 
gave  herself  up  equally  to  the  joy  of  it  in  his  arms.  The 
evening  turned  to  opal  round  them,  and  as  its  fires  faded  she 
withdrew  herself  from  him. 

"I  must  not  stay  any  longer,"  she  said  reluctantly,  watch- 
ing the  great  planets  leap  into  the  sky  above  them.  "Good- 
night." 

"Good-night,  my  darling  one.  To-morrow  I  shall  see 
you.  I  pray  I  may  live  through  the  hours  till  I  can  touch 
your  lips  again." 

She  sped  back  through  the  sweet-scented  gloom,  the 
long  grass  brushing  her  skirts,  the  light  air  lifting  the  curls 
from  her  forehead,  her  heart  bounding.  How  she  loved 
those  smooth  scarlet  lips  that  had  just  kissed  her,  what  a 
moment  of  intense  delight  when  that  head  had  bowed  over 


294  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

her  in  the  violet  twilight,  and  now  in  a  short  time  she  would 
be  with  him  always.  Eustace  would  be  said  good-bye  to, 
and  pass  from  her  life  with  the  shadow  he  had  brought 
into  it:  gloom  and  disappointment,  the  starving  of  the 
passions,  repression  of  self,  and  also  ease,  wealth  and  luxury, 
all  would  be  said  good-bye  to;  instead  there  would  be  love 
and  laughter  and  work,  the  homage  of  a  man  who  loved 
and  valued  her,  the  hard,  simple  existence  of  the  poor  made 
rich  by  the  feasts  of  love.  How  happy  she  was:  how  the 
pale  stars  in  the  still  luminous  sky  spoke  to  her,  telling  her 
of  nights  of  love!  She  was  like  a  captive  set  free.  She 
could  have  sung  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart.  It  did  not  occur 
to  her  that  there  would  be  any  opposition,  that,  if  in  Life's 
great  shop  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  buy,  it  is  harder  still, 
at  times,  to  throw  away  a  purchase  once  made.  No,  this 
thought  was  not  near  her.  She  bounded  on  home  to  the 
hotel,  thinking  only  of  the  new  doll,  all  white  and  gold,  she 
was  about  to  buy.  When  she  reached  the  Summer  Palace 
there  was  barely  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  she  did  not 
speak  to  Eustace  until  they  were  seated  at  their  table.  From 
habit,  the  long  habit  of  striving  to  please  him,  she  was  punctual 
to  the  minute.  She  tossed  her  hair  up  on  to  her  head  more 
carelessly  than  of  old,  and  hardly  glanced  in  the  mirror. 
She  cared  no  longer  whether  he  admired  or  disapproved. 
Formerly  she  had  been  sometimes  late — an  intolerable 
offence  in  his  eyes — because  of  her  great,  her  all-absorbing 
longing  to  please  him,  to  appear  at  her  very  best.  She  would 
linger  to  smooth  her  glossy  hair  again,  to  fasten  yet  another 
rose  against  her  breast,  to  set  an  extra  jewel  at  her  neck,  to 
gaze  despairingly  in  the  mirror  and  ask  herself  why  he  was 
always  so  cross,  what  more  of  charm  could  she  lend  herself 
to  please  him?  And  those  few  minutes  she  was  late  were  a 
crime  to  Eustace.  Now  she  was  not  late.  And  he  was 
better  satisfied  to  note  her  increased  punctuality.  Ah! 
Could  he  have  known  what  that  new  virtue  meant!  No 
sign  of  her  dead  passion,  of  her  dying  love,  was  more  sure 
than  this.  She  did  not  care  now:  she  could  be  punctual 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  295 

easily.  She  never  paused  before  the  glass  to  try  to  win  his 
approval,  to  avoid  those  scathing  remarks  of  his.  If  he  made 
them  now  they  had  ceased  to  hurt.  She  could  hear  them, 
and  smile,  and  say  she  was  sorry,  but,  inwardly,  she  cared 
no  more.  Those  little  desperate  five  minutes  she  had  kept 
him  waiting  formerly,  had  he  but  recognized  them  at  their 
value,  how  he  would  have  recalled  them  now! 

After  dinner  they  went  to  their  own  room:  that  splen- 
did room  of  which  the  open  windows  gave  all  the  blue  vault 
to  view,  and  when  they  were  sitting  there,  in  the  blaze  of 
hot  starlight,  drinking  their  coffee,  she  decided  to  speak 
those  words  that,  in  her  view,  cut  their  lives  apart.  She 
knew  enough  to  feel  that  Eustace  must  be  hurt  in  his  vanity, 
though  she  was  obsessed  by  the  idea  that  his  love  and  passion 
were  dead,  so  she  suppressed  all  her  own  joyous  elation,  and 
said  merely,  in  a  cold,  practical  tone, — 

"Eustace,  Blakney  proposed  to  me  this  afternoon." 

Pelham  did  not  seem  much  interested. 

"Oh?  Did  you  tell  him,  then,  you  were  not  married 
to  me?"  he  replied. 

"No,  I  did  not,  but  he  divined  it.  You  see,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  conceal  anything  from  people  who  really  love  you. 
Ordinary  people  don't  care,  they  don't  bother,  it's  no  parti- 
cular interest  to  them,  but  if  a  man  is  in  love  he  is  so  quick 
to  see,  to  feel,  it's  all  such  a  vital  matter  to  him.  I  never 
said  anything  at  all  to  lead  him  to  think  we  were  not  married, 
but  he  seemed  to  know  from  the  first." 

"What  infinite  assurance  to  ask  a  woman  like  you  to 
marry  him!  I  suppose  he  was  much  upset  by  your  refusal  ?" 

"I  did  not  refuse  him,"  replied  Lydia,  steadily.  "I 
have  accepted  him." 

Pelham  looked  at  her  fixedly  for  a  few  moments,  in 
silence.  His  face  did  not  change.  It  seemed  intensely 
grave:  the  eyebrows  were  level  over  the  green-blue  eyes. 
Lydia  met  his  gaze  in  silence  too:  the  pink  colour  mount- 
ing to  and  burning  in  her  cheeks.  Then,  as  he  did  not 
speak,  she  felt  constrained  to,  and  said, — 


296  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"So,  now,  you  see,  you  will  get  rid  of  me,  and  I  shall  be 
no  more:.trouble  to  you." 

In  spite  of  herself  her  voice  shook:  she  affected  to  speak 
lightly,  but  her  real  gaiety  of  a  little  while  back  had  gone. 
She  was  again  within  the  sphere  of  his  influence,  and  his 
gravity  affected  her.  She  became  aware,  suddenly,  that  he 
was  feeling  deeply,  pain,  and  she  hated  hurting  him. 

"I  have  not  said  you  were  any  trouble,  as  far  as  I  remem- 
ber," he  answered. 

"No,  I  don't  know  that  you  have,"  she  replied  quickly, 
"but  you  don't  seem  to  care  very  much  for  me.  You  are 
always  rather  cross  and  horrid  to  me,  and  we  are  very  little 
together.  I  thought,  on  the  whole,  perhaps  you  would  be 
glad  for  us  to  part."  She  spoke  hurriedly  and  suddenly 
stopped  short,  her  face  colouring.  She  realised  then  she 
had  not  thought  he  would  be  glad :  that  he  would  be  bitterly 
sorry  when  it  actually  came  to  a  parting,  regretful.  Yes, 
she  must  have  known  that.  But  this  seemed  to  be  worse 
than  anything  she  had  anticipated.  Indefinably  she  felt 
he  was  suffering.  She  grew  frightened  and  confused.  Pel- 
ham  was  absolutely  silent.  He  sat  motionless,  his  gaze 
turned  now  through  the  window.  Their  coffee  was  finished : 
speech  between  them  seemed  dead.  Not  a  sound  came  from 
outside,  the  waters  gleamed  tranquilly  beneath  them,  the 
stars  burnt  tremulously  in  the  glorious  darkness  of  the  sky. 
Lydia  sat  still,  a  wild  longing  filling  her  for  all  this  to  be  over, 
to  be  away,  away  from  this  man,  whose  presence  for  so  long 
now  had  always  meant  pain  or  some  mental  discomfort  to 
her.  She  did  not  want  to  hurt  him,  she  did  not  want  to 
suffer  herself.  She  cared  no  longer  to  try  and  understand 
the  problem  he  presented.  For  two  years  she  had  tried, 
with  the  whole  force  of  her  ardent  nature,  to  make  their 
passion  a  success,  to  make  it  an  agent  to  happiness,  to  them 
both,  to  gain  his  love:  she  fancied  she  had  failed,  and  now 
all  she  wanted  was  to  throw  aside  this  ungrateful  burden, 
this  impossible  task,  to  forget  it  all,  to  be  free.  That,  where 
she  thought  she  had  failed,  she  had  in  fact  succeeded,  that 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  297 

those  two  years  had  so  chained  this  man  to  her  that  he  would 
never  be  free  in  this  life  again  she  was  absolutely  unaware 
of.  A  dim  warning  was  beginning  to  sound  within,  a  vague 
feeling  of  alarm  was  awakening,  but  as  yet  she  did  not  realise 
its  meaning. 

"Why  did  you  accept  him?"  inquired  Pelham,  at  last, 
in  an  even  voice.  "Are  you  in  love  with  him  ?" 

It  seemed  to  Lydia,  put  thus,  the  question  paralysed 
her  power  to  answer  it.  Was  she  in  love  with  Blakney  ? 
Her  intelligence,  her  thoughts  seemed  scattered. 

"What  is  being  in  love?"  she  said  at  last,  desperately. 
"I  do  admire  Blakney  immensely.  I  think  he  has  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  faces  I  have  ever  seen.  I  like  to  look 
at  him.  I  like  being  with  him.  I  feel  happy  with  him. 
If  that's  being  in  love,  I  suppose  I  am." 

"I  imagined  you  cared  about  me,"  returned  Pelham,  in 
a  stony  tone. 

"I  did.  I  was  devoted  to  you.  I  would  have  died 
for  you  any  time,  willingly,  but  I  think  you  have  killed 
my  love  for  you.  You  have  been  so  unkind  to  me.  We 
have  not  made  a  success  of  our  lives  just  lately:  we  don't 
seem  really  happy,  it  all  seems  to  have  been  a  mistake  and 
a  muddle,  and  we  had  better  let  it  end." 

There  was  another  long  pause.  Lydia  was  looking  out 
into  the  night,  or  she  would  have  seen  that  a  redness  grew 
round  Pelham 's  eyelids. 

"Blakney  has  absolutely  nothing.  How  does  he  pro- 
pose to  keep  you?"  he  said  after  a  time  in  the  same  cold, 
restrained  voice. 

"I  don't  care,"  responded  Lydia,  passionately.  "I 
have  been  brought  up  to  work.  All  I  want  is  to  live  with 
someone  I  love,  and  who  is  nice  to  me." 

The  silence  came  down  again  between  them  like  a  pall, 
and  there  seemed  no  possibility,  this  time,  of  breaking  it. 
Half  an  hour  went  by  and  then  Pelham  rose. 

"It's  late:  we  ought  to  go  to  bed,"  he  said  merely. 
"Good-night." 


298  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Good-night,"  Lydia  replied  without  moving,  and  he 
went  to  his  own  room.  Lydia,  filled  'with  a  rage  of  passion- 
ate feelings,  rose  and  stepped  out  on  the  balcony.  She  felt 
a  sensation  of  keen  pain  all  through  her,  as  one  whose  flesh 
has  been  scraped  with  oyster  shells,  but  she  grew  calm  again, 
standing  alone  in  the  soft,  hot  darkness  of  the  Turkish  night, 
and  after  a  little  while  smiled  to  herself. 

"I  shall  soon  be  away  from  all  this,"  she  thought,  and 
let  her  mind  return  to  the  image  of  Blakney,  to  the  mouth 
and  eyes  that,  so  far,  had  always  smiled  upon  her,  to  the 
face  that  was  like  the  Russian  snow,  and  the  hair  full  of 
gold  lights. 

She  went  back  to  her  room  and  began  to  undress:  she 
dismissed  Pelham  from  her  mind.  Too  many  nights  in  the 
past  she  had  walked  up  and  down  her  room  in  agony,  longing 
for  his  love  and  tenderness,  filled  with  the  wasting  flame 
of  passion,  while  he  slept  unconscious.  That  was  past  now. 
She  lay  down  in  her  bed  and  fell  asleep  with  a  smile  on  her 
mouth,  dreaming  of  other  eyes  and  lips,  while  beyond  the 
closed  door  it  was  Pelham,  that  night,  who  could  not  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"WHAT  are  you  going  to  do  this  morning?"  Lydia  asked, 
over  their  breakfast  the  next  morning.  "Will  you  go  out 
fishing  to-day  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  can  go  out,"  returned  Pelham,  in  a  voice  lacking 
in  any  enthusiasm.  "Will  you  come  ?" 

Lydia  hesitated.  She  hated  that  fishing,  and  now, 
surely  there  was  no  longer  any  need,  any  moral  reason,  foi 
sacrificing  herself  to  please  him. 

"I  think  I  would  rather  stay  at  home,"  she  said  gently. 

Pelham  made  no  reply.  It  was  a  very  silent  breakfast, 
and  afterwards  he  busied  himself  in  a  mechanical  way  with 
getting  ready  his  rod  and  line.  Lydia  loitered  near  him 
all  the  time,  in  silence  too.  When  he  was  ready  he  said, 
"Good-bye,"  and  she  looked  into  his  face:  it  seemed  greatly 
older,  and  thin,  and  drawn  in  the  extreme. 

"Good-bye  till  dinner,"  Lydia  answered,  and  he  left 
her,  with  rather  a  feeling  of  dismay  pervading  her.  How 
wretched  he  looked!  When  he  was  out  of  sight  she  went 
upstairs  and  chose  her  prettiest  toilet,  a  delicate  rose  muslin, 
with  bands  of  inserted  lace,  and  lace  lying  flat  round  the 
perfect  column  of  her  neck.  She  gazed  in  the  glass,  well 
content  with  the  velvet  cheeks  and  great  soft-lashed  eyes. 
Then  she  descended  and  took  a  chair  on  the  balcony,  delighted 
with  the  feeling  she  could  sit  still  and  be  idle,  and  was  not 
obliged  to  be  climbing  rocks  in  the  burning  sun,  or  rowing 
in  the  glare  of  the  water,  or  doing  any  of  the  tiresome,  stupid, 
hateful  things  Pelham  had  always  wanted  her  to  and  she  had 
done  to  please  him.  She  had  only  been  seated  a  few  minutes 
when  Blakney  appeared  beside  her  and  drew  up  bis  chair 

299 


300  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

near  to  hers.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  knowing  that 
keen  pleasure,  through  the  eyes,  that  only  the  born  aesthete 
can  feel.  In  the  bright  morning  light  his  face,  without  a 
line,  and  the  blue  eyes  beneath  the  white  forehead,  looked 
their  very  best. 

"I  am  so  fortunate  to  find  you,"  he  said,  with  his  easy 
smile.  "Where's  Pelham?" 

"Where  should  he  be  but  out  fishing,"  Lydia  answered, 
with  a  laugh. 

It  had  hurt  her  a  little,  though  she  hardly  recognised  it, 
that  Pelham  should,  on  the  eve  of  finally  losing  her,  go  out 
fishing  as  usual.  She  had  a  curious  sense  of  having  ex- 
pected it,  and  yet  not  having  expected  it.  But  she  did  not 
analyse  her  feelings.  It  only  had  the  effect  of  making  her 
deliver  herself  more  fully  and  freely  to  the  pleasure  of  Blak- 
ney's  society.  He  felt  that.  He  felt  that  somehow  she  was 
nearer  him  that  morning  than  ever  before,  and  it  filled  him 
with  a  joy  and  elation  that  coloured  his  cheek  and  lighted 
his  eye,  and  gave  him  that  attractiveness  that  rising  con- 
fident passion  always  bestows.  Not  a  very  long  time  had 
passed  on  that  sunny  balcony,  with  the  ethereal  blue  above 
and  the  deeper  blue  below,  with  the  little  breeze  bearing  a 
thousand  rich  fragrances  to  them,  before  they  were  talking 
interestedly  of  their  plans,  and  he  was  pressing  her  to  settle 
a  marriage  in  six  days,  or  in  as  little  a  time  as  he  could  get  a 
license,  but  Lydia  drew  back  before  a  definite  date.  No, 
no,  she  would  say  nothing  just  yet,  he  must  be  content  to 
wait  a  little;  this  tune  was  so  happy,  let  them  enjoy  it,  not 
seek  for  anything  better  than  this.  And  all  the  time  her 
restraining  words  were  like  little  drops  of  oil  dropping  on 
the  flame  in  him. 

At  lunch  tune  he  rose  to  go  and  Lydia  did  not  ask  him 
to  stay  to  lunch.  Something  within  her  forbade  her  to 
entertain  this  man  at  Pelham 's  expense,  so  he  went,  saying 
he  should  return  in  the  afternoon,  and  she  promised  to  be 
there  at  tea-time,  and  went  in  to  lunch  alone.  Afterwards, 
before  Blakney  returned,  sitting  alone  on  the  balcony,  she 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  301 

fell  into  a  reverie.  Her  mind  was  curiously  divided  now, 
half  seemed  to  have  rosy  light  on  it  when  she  thought  of 
Blakney;  on  the  other  side,  in  a  cold  grey  shadow,  was 
the  image  of  Pelham. 

"All  endings  are  sad,"  she  mused,  "the  death  of  a  love, 
the  termination  of  any  period  in  our  lives  has  a  certain  sad- 
ness. I  shall  not  feel  it  when  it's  over  and  done  and  I  am 
away." 

Then  the  thought  came,  Would  she  ever  miss  Pelham,  or 
want  him,  when  she  could  never  see  him  again  ?  She  won- 
dered. She  did  not  seem  to  miss  him  while  Blakney  was 
with  her.  He  seemed  to  absolutely  satisfy  her  and  fill  her 
mental  vision  so  completely  that  Pelham's  image  was  entirely 
excluded  from  it. 

Blakney  possessed  all  the  qualities  that  were  necessary 
to  evoke  passion  in  her  particular  organisation.  It  is  in 
fact  qualities  and  not  individuals  that  excite  passion  in  the 
human  being.  It  is  this  fact,  so  little  recognised,  that  ex- 
plains the  otherwise  inexplicable  thing,  infidelity,  that  often 
quite  sudden  transference  of  love  from  one  object  to  another. 
A  young  man,  for  instance,  meets  his  first  love,  she  is  adorable, 
she  is  twenty,  she  has  wonderful  health  and  spirits,  a  good 
temper,  a  ready  laugh,  thick  brown  tresses,  a  merry  smile; 
he  loves  her,  her  he  thinks,  but  what  is  this  her  for  him? 
He  knows  nothing  of  her  as  the  individual.  His  love  is, 
perhaps,  at  first  sight.  She,  the  individual,  is  an  unknown 
quantity  for  him.  It  is  not  that  that  he  loves,  however  much 
he  may  deceive  himself  on  this  point.  It  is  these  qualities 
that  he  loves,  the  youth,  the  health,  the  bright  smile,  the 
thick  brown  hair,  the  sweet  sight  of  her,  these  attract  him, 
enchain,  violently  agitate  him.  This  must  be  so,  for  we 
know  if  the  age  were  changed  to  eighty,  the  health  to  de- 
crepitude, the  smile  to  wrinkles,  the  thick  hair  to  baldness, 
if  this  sudden  transformation  were  made,  though  no  change 
effected  in  her  ego,  the  young  man  would  love  no  more. 
Here,  then,  we  have  the  root  of  infidelity,  in  this  love  of  the 
qualities  only,  for  while  the  adorable  creature  possessing 


302  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

them  is  near  to  him  it  is  easy  to  see  that  he  continues  faithful, 
he  probably  will  do  so;  if  she  is  taken  from  him,  at  first  he  is 
desolated,  missing  her,  as  he  thinks,  in  reality  missing  her 
qualities,  and  if  then  he  is  confronted  with  another  object 
also  possessing  them,  perhaps  more  of  those  which  attract 
him,  perhaps  the  same  in  a  greater  degree,  then  the  chances 
are  his  passion  flames  up  for  them  and  he  becomes,  as  the 
phrase  goes,  unfaithful.  In  reality  he  loves  now  what  he 
loved  before;  the  first  individual  was  a  stranger  to  him,  as 
the  second  is,  but  he  sees  again  that  same  youthful  grace, 
that  same  buoyancy  of  form  and  mind,  that  lovely  smile, 
those  thick  soft  curls,  and  his  heart  rushes  out  to  them  now 
as  it  did  before.  This  then  is  the  course  of  ordinary  love, 
the  secret  of  that  infidelity  which  we  see  all  round  us,  marring 
it  every  day.  It  is,  again,  easy  to  see  from  the  above  that  any 
object  possessing  qualities  very  peculiar  to  itself,  or  so  many 
qualities  that  they  will  rarely  be  found  all  together  in  another, 
cannot  be  easily  duplicated,  and  therefore,  if  it  once  has 
aroused  passion  in  another,  is  likely  to  retain  it,  since  the 
lover  can  find,  in  no  other  form,  those  qualities,  or  combina- 
tion of  qualities  that  excite  him,  and  so  in  that  case  comes 
nearer  loving  the  individual,  and  that  one  alone.  The 
qualities  that  had  so  greatly  attracted  Lydia  to  Pelham  had 
been  his  height,  his  figure,  his  features  and  air  of  distinction. 
She  had  always  detested  his  bad  temper  and  exacting  self- 
ishness. In  Blakney  she  was  drawn  equally  by  the  three 
first  attributes,  and  if  he  had  not  that  special  air  and  carriage 
that  characterised  Pelham  so  strongly,  he  had,  she  could 
see,  an  infinitely  sunnier,  pleasanter  disposition.  There- 
fore, since  Pelham  had  relied  wholly  on  those  outward 
advantages  he  had  to  hold  her,  when  another  offered  those 
same  advantages,  and,  in  addition,  other  qualities  that  her 
sweet  and  gentle  nature  had  always  sighed  for,  it  was  natural 
that  she  should  turn  to  the  latter  with  relief,  gratitude  and 
love. 

When  Blakney  returned  they  had  tea  and  then  strolled 
up  the  hill  together:  their  hill,  as  they  called  it  now,  and 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  303 

as  it  was  a  little  rough  in  places,  most  of  the  guests  eschewed 
it,  and  to-night  they  had  it  entirely  to  themselves.  At  the 
top  a  wonderful  sight  awaited  them;  the  sunset  flared  across 
a  sky  of  fretted  gold,  the  waters  beneath  gleamed  unbroken 
gold,  and  all  round  them  was  a  luminous  glowing  pink  in 
which  the  red  branches  of  the  pines  seemed  to  catch  fire 
above  them.  Lydia's  aesthetic  sense  was  filled  full  of  satis- 
faction; to  her  it  seemed  she  walked  beside  the  Sun  God 
in  the  Elysian  Fields,  and  when,  beneath  the  firs,  he  took 
her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again,  in  the 
strange  transfiguring  light  of  the  heavens,  she  made  no 
resistance:  she  returned  his  kisses,  feeling  all  her  senses 
swimming  in  seas  of  unknown  delight.  She  consented  to 
his  entreaties  for  an  early  marriage,  to  some  wild  plea  for 
a  quick  journey  to  some  point  where  they  could  be  united. 
She  repeated,  as  he  urged  her,  that  she  loved  him  and  only 
him.  Her  lips  moved  with  the  words  he  poured  into  them 
in  his  own  tempest  of  feeling.  She  cared  about  nothing. 
That  evening  she  felt  she  had  entered  Elysium  and  was 
with  the  immortals.  They  stayed  there  a  long  time  on 
the  red  pine  needles  beneath  the  fir,  the  large  arms  of  which 
stretched  over  them  as  if  in  benediction,  and  watched  the 
glorious  rose  pale  over  the  amber  water,  and  the  crystal 
planets  step  forth  in  the  green,  translucent  sky:  the  twilight 
fell,  and  fell,  its  violet  folds  darkening  with  each  second, 
and  they  still  sat  on,  close,  side  by  side,  watching  the  changing 
glory  of  the  atmosphere  light  each  other's  faces,  everything 
forgotten  but  their  own  supreme  content  and  happiness. 
\t  last  the  call  of  the  muezzin  from  a  mosque  below  reached 
them  through  the  purple  air,  and  Lydia  woke  suddenly  to 
realise  the  hour. 

"I  must  go,  really.  It  has  all  been  such  a  dream  of 
splendour  here,  I  feel  dazzled,  stupefied,  but  let  us  go  now, 
please,  I  must." 

They  descended  together. 

"You  have  been  so  good  to  me  this  evening  I  shall  leave 
you  to-night  happy,"  Ivan  murmured  in  her  ear,  his  voice 


304  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

strained  with  intense  feeling,  his  beautiful  face  bent  close 
to  hers.  Lydia  smiled  faintly,  in  silence.  A  sudden  pang 
went  through  her.  Good  to  him!  because  she  had  given 
him  a  few  kisses,  the  right  to  press  her  lips!  And  he  was 
grateful!  What  had  she  not  done  for  Pelham!  and  was 
he  grateful  ?  She  wondered. 

At  the  hotel  they  parted  and  she  went  up  to  her  room. 
Pelham  had  not  returned,  and,  when  her  toilet  was  com- 
pleted, she  sat  dowrn  in  the  easy  chair  in  her  room  to  await 
him,  her  eyes  suffused,  and  dreaming  still,  seeing  the  glory 
of  the  hilltop  yet  beneath  her  lids. 

When  Pelham  came  in  she  looked  at  him  and  noted 
his  face  was  pale  and  stamped  with  the  same  drawn  suffer- 
ing look  of  the  morning. 

"Have  you  had  good  fishing?"  she  asked,  in  her  soft, 
gentle  voice. 

"Yes,  the  fishing  was  good,  better  than  usual,  the  fish 
were  in  the  water  all  round  me,  but  somehow  I  didn't  feel 
I  cared  about  it.  I  didn't  bother  to  take  them.  I  didn't 
care  about  anything.  I  couldn't  fish."  He  flung  all  his 
fishing-tackle  down  in  a  corner  of  the  room  and  came  over 
to  her.  "I  was  thinking  so  much  of  ourselves,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  putting  his  hands  on  her  shoulders.  "I  don't 
think  we  must  separate  just  yet." 

A  cold  ice  wave  seemed  to  envelop  Lydia  from  head  to 
foot,  the  words  were  short  and  simple,  but  either  in  the  tone 
or  through  the  contact  of  his  hands  she  became  conscious 
of  the  terrific  tension  in  him,  felt,  concentrated  in  a  few 
moments,  the  whole  misery  and  wretchedness  he  had  suf- 
fered throughout  that  horrible  day.  She  sat  quite  still, 
hedged  about  with  a  feeling  of  dismay,  afraid,  incapable  of 
word  or  motion,  much  as  one  sees  a  small  bird  sit  motionless, 
crouched  to  the  earth,  every  feather  still,  as  the  shadow  of 
a  hawk  crosses  the  blue  above. 

In  a  second  she  realised  that  here,  now,  wailing  for  her, 
at  her  feet,  was  that  passion  that  once  she  had  longed  so 
wildly  to  possess,  and  she  saw  too  that  he  realised  it.  That 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  305 

in  that  long  day  alone  he  had  been  looking  into  his  own 
brain  and  heart,  and  learning  their  secret.  Not  only  did 
he  love  her  now,  but  he  knew  that  he  loved  her.  Odd  as 
it  may  seem  one  may  love  and  not  know  it,  may  have  a  strong 
passion  for  another  and  not  know  it,  until  some  accident 
or  threatened  loss  reveal  it  to  oneself.  And  until  the  knowl- 
edge comes  we  do  not  value  the  object  of  our  love. 

"I  was  thinking  of  you  so  much  all  to-day,"  he  continued 
softly,  leaning  over  her  and  kissing  her,  "of  all  the  nice 
things  you  have  done  for  me,  how  good  and  sweet  you  have 
been  all  this  time  to  me,  and  I  don't  feel  I  can  let  you  go, 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without  my  little  companion. 
We  must  stay  together." 

His  voice  was  very  tender  and  had  all  the  accents  of 
intense  feeling:  it  vibrated  with  the  suffering  of  the  past 
hours. 

The  girl  sat  still.  Within  her  there  was  no  response. 
She  felt  simply,  knew  simply,  in  an  agonised  wave  of  feeling, 
that  she  was  not,  as  she  had  imagined,  free.  In  those  mo- 
ments a  great  resentment  against  him  filled  her.  For  two 
years  he  had  had  her  beside  him,  hungering  for  his  love, 
striving  her  very  utmost  to  earn  it,  pouring  out  for  him  a 
devotion  that  asked  nothing  but  love  as  its  reward;  for  two 
years  he  had  made  her  life  uniformly  unhappy,  had  spoiled 
every  pleasure  for  her,  and  treated  her  with  persistent  harsh- 
ness, subjected  her  to  every  mental  indignity,  trampled  upon, 
despised  and  rejected  her  passion.  Now,  when  driven  by 
his  own  acts  to  another,  now,  when  the  sun  had  just  flashed 
out  over  the  dreary  existence  he  had  made  for  her,  when 
she  had  at  last  been  able  to  crush  out  her  passion  for  him 
and  rejoice  in  another  love,  he  stepped  forward  between  her 
and  happiness,  and  offered  in  exchange  what  he  had  succeeded 
finally  in  making  worthless  to  her. 

Had  she  been  a  man  in  the  same  circumstances  she  would 

at  once  have  rejected  utterly  the  love  offered  to  her  now. 

Without  mercy  she  would  have  told  Pelham  it  was  too  late, 

his  opportunities  had  been  his  and  were  past.    She  had  set 

20 


306  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

her  feet  on  another  road,  given  her  promise  to  another,  and 
her  future  lay  before  her,  in  which  he  could  have  no  part. 

But,  unfortunately  for  herself,  she  had  no  strain  of  cruelty 
in  her  character,  none  of  that  calm  indifference  to  others' 
suffering  which  is  such  a  marked  characteristic  of  every  man, 
and  which  is  so  useful  to  him  in  securing,  generally,  what 
he  wants  in  the  world. 

"We  will  go  anywhere  you  like,  do  anything  you  like," 
continued  Pelham,  as  she  remained  silent.  "You  have 
only  to  say,  but  we  must  not  think  of  separating.  It  is 
impossible.  You  have  not  been  amused  enough  lately. 
You  have  always  wanted  to  go  to  London,  well,  we'll  go 
now,  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I  will  take  you  to  the  opera, 
which  you  have  always  longed  for.  You  shall  enjoy  the 
whole  season  there." 

"I  don't  really  care  very  much  about  anything,  I  think," 
she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "except  living  with  someone 
^  love,  and  who  cares  about  me." 

"That  you  are,  that  you  will  be."  His  hands  burnt  on 
her  shoulders. 

"You  don't  seem  to  have  cared  very  much." 

"Well,  I  do.  I  cannot  help  what  I  have  seemed.  I  am 
telling  you  the  facts  now."  His  voice  was  lower  even  than 
hers,  and  had  an  intense  vehemence. 

Lydia  was  white  to  the  lips:  as  she  saw  more  and  more 
clearly  the  greatness  of  this  passion,  once  so  wildly  longed 
for,  her  sense  of  freedom  diminished,  the  oppression  upon 
her  grew.  She  spoke  calmly,  keeping  her  self-possession, 
carefully  choosing  her  words.  It  is  in  moments  of  passion, 
whether  of  anger  or  love,  of  excitement,  fear  or  despair, 
such  as  swept  over  her  now,  that  the  quality  of  a  nature  is 
revealed,  and  it  was  in  these  moments  that  Lydia's  innate 
inborn  gentleness  displayed  itself.  She  was,  to  the  very 
inmost  core,  a  gentlewoman,  and  her  self-command,  the 
refinement  of  all  her  demeanour  and  words,  in  sudden  and 
trying  situations,  were  always  a  marvel  to  Pelham,  and 
half  unconsciously  had,  by  degrees,  attached  him  very  closely 


307 

to  her.  To  his  most  unjust  and  stinging  taunts  he  had  never 
had  a  coarse  or  violent,  and  rarely  any,  answer;  in  his  fierce 
outbursts  of  temper,  when  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  striking 
her,  and  she  had  divined  it,  although  she  had  never  shrunk 
from  him,  she  had  never  provoked  him  farther,  he  had  met 
her  indignant  or  contemptuous  glance  and — silence.  The 
furious  light  leaping  into  her  eyes  alone  told  him  what  a  rage 
of  passion  he  had  excited  and  she  controlled.  She  had 
never  once  shown  herself  in  an  angry,  undignified  or  childish 
temper,  and  Pelham  respected  her  more  than  any  other  woman 
he  had  ever  met.  She  always  reminded  him,  vaguely,  of 
the  description  that  is  given  in  one  of  the  Greek  plays,  though 
its  context,  place  and  even  subject  he  could  not  remember: 
"Whatever  happens  she  will  never  do  or  say  anything  un- 
fitting or  indecorous,  for  she  is  a  King's  daughter."  He 
saw  now  her  pallor  and  the  blazing  look  in  her  eyes,  and  knew 
that  there  was  a  storm  going  on  within  her  and  little  of  that 
old  illimitable  tenderness  for  him  was  left.  And  she,  in 
opposition  to  him  thus,  excited  him,  gave  back  to  him  that 
pulse  of  wild  passion,  of  keen  desire,  he  had  first  known  for 
her.  He  loved  and  desired  her,  in  those  moments,  to  the 
very  utmost,  and  she  again  became  for  him  the  supreme 
pleasure  in  life. 

"I  think,"  she  said  very  quietly,  "you  had  better  let 
me  go.  You  only  feel  you  care  for  me  just  now  because — 
she  hesitated,  "because  of  the  peculiar  circumstances,  and 
they  will  not  last."  What  she  meant  to  imply,  but  refrained 
from  saying,  was,  "I  cannot  always  be  in  love  with  another 
man,  and  on  the  point  of  leaving  you,  to  keep  up  your  pas- 
sion." "Then,"  she  continued  aloud,  "we  shall  be  again 
as  we  were  before,  and  I  am  too  unhappy  to  stay.  You 
see,  Eustace,  it  is  not  as  if  you  would  have  any  difficulty 
in  replacing  me.  You  are  not  ill,  old,  poor  or  ugly:  with 
your  looks  you  can  have  any  woman  you  like:  independ- 
ently of  that,  your  wealth  would  buy  you  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  London.  You  have  had  me  and  I  have  been  a 
failure.  You  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me  once.  I  was  not 


308  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

willing  to  go  then.  Now  I  am  ready.  I  want  to  go.  Let 
me  go.  You  can  get  a  far  more  lovely  and  charming  mis- 
tress than  I  am  at  once,  and  in  a  week  or  two  you  will  have 
forgotten  me." 

Pelham  felt  a  sort  of  horror  growing  in  him  as  she  spoke. 
Paid  caresses,  bought  smiles  had  never  at  any  time  appealed 
to  him.  Did  he  not  know  and  loath  the  ways  of  those  beauti- 
ful women  and  charming  mistresses  that  she  spoke  of  so 
glibly?  Their  coarseness,  their  recklessness,  their  com- 
mon brutish  stupidity,  their  repelling  avarice;  could  they, 
who  had  never  pleased,  now  satisfy  him  after  he  had  once 
lived  in  close  communion  with  this  woman,  with  her  refine- 
ment, her  delicacy,  her  tender,  disinterested  love,  her  sen- 
sitive receptiveness,  her  clear  intellect,  her  sweetness,  her 
intensity  of  real  passion  ? 

"I  don't  want  anybody  but  you,"  he  broke  out  savagely, 
and  yet  there  was  a  wild  tender  edge  to  his  tone  that  the 
girl's  ear  heard,  "and  you  know  it.  You  must  stay  with 
me.  I  can't  let  you  go.  You  must  not  think  of  it." 

He  threw  himself  upon  her  as  she  sat  in  the  low  chair, 
and  pressed  his  lips  on  hers  in  a  violent  torrent  of  kisses. 
Lydia  did  not  return  them:  neither  did  she  resent  them. 
She  lay  back  passive,  with  her  eyes  closed.  Two  years  ago! 
Ah,  how  her  aching  heart  and  body,  broken  up  with  intense 
longing  for  this  man's  love  and  caresses,  would  have  rejoiced, 
been  transported  with  ecstasy  by  them!  If  she  could  but 
have  had  them  then!  And,  thinking  thus,  another  arrow 
of  thought  passed  through  her  brain.  She  had  offered  her 
love  then,  he  had  refused  it  and  now  longed  for  it.  Was  she 
not  now  in  the  same  position  ?  If  she  refused  this  proffered 
gift  now  might  some  future  regret  await  her  ? 

The  loud  clanging  of  the  dinner-gong  in  the  hall  below 
them,  and  a  chambermaid's  knock  at  their  door,  startled  them. 

"You  are  not  dressed  for  dinner  yet,  Eustace.  Make 
haste,"  she  said,  pushing  him  gently  away  from  her,  and 
he  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  leaving  her  sinking  under 
a  tide  of  overwhelming  distress  and  dismay. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  309 

At  dinner,  sitting  opposite  him  at  their  little  flower-laden 
table  in  the  brilliantly-lighted  table  d'hote  hall,  she  could 
not  help  noticing  how  extraordinarily  well  and  handsome 
Pelham  was  looking.  The  fires  of  the  excitement  of  the 
chase  were  now  well  lighted,  and  they  glowed  in  his  long 
green-blue  eyes,  and  whitened  the  clear  tan  of  his  skin. 
The  fatigue,  age  and  pain  that  had  marked  his  face,  on  his 
first  return,  had  fled  from  it.  Those  kisses  on  her  lips, 
received  if  not  returned,  the  contact  again  with  that  warm 
beauty  of  hers,  after  the  chill,  lonely  horrors  of  his  day,  had 
reanimated,  electrified  him.  They  had  an  excellent  dinner, 
and  then  strolled  out  on  to  the  terrace  together,  followed 
by  many  eyes,  and  not  a  few  were  keenly  envious.  The 
Turkish  stars  were  all  ablaze,  the  moon,  just  rising,  showed 
a  tiny  tip  of  her  gold  crescent  above  a  ridge  of  cypress,  the 
night  was  warm,  still,  transparent,  and  full  of  wandering 
perfumes.  Lydia  felt  her  heart  on  fire.  At  this  moment 
she  was  loved  intensely  by  two  men,  and  the  magnetism  of 
it  had  its  own  delight.  She  knew  that  it  could  not  last, 
that  one  or  other  of  these  passions  must  be  relinquished 
and  laid  down;  she  would  have  kept  them  both  if  she  could, 
but  she  knew  it  was  impossible,  and  she  foresaw  the  wretched 
struggle  between  them,  facing  her.  But  for  the  moment 
she  did  not  feel  the  burden  of  it,  and  the  warmth  of  love 
beat  in  upon  her  heart  and  suffused  it. 

Pelham  came  to  her  room  that  night,  and  she  felt  she 
had  no  adequate  reason  for  refusing  him.  It  would  have 
been,  to  her  view,  unnatural,  almost  absurd,  and,  as  she 
saw,  extremely  difficult  to  resist.  It  was  simpler  to  yield, 
if  she  could  not  now  respond.  Moreover,  she  felt  no  repug- 
nance to  Eustace  as  a  result  of  her  love  for  Blakney,  only 
indifference,  a  knowledge  that  he  could  not  satisfy  her  senses 
at  that  moment  because  they  were  enchained  by  another. 
Her  tempestuous,  eager  love  for  Pelham,  so  long  ill-used, 
seemed  now  to  have  flown  out  of  her  bosom,  to  have  gone, 
as  completely  as  a  frightened  bird  vanishes  from  its  nest. 
When  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  she  felt  its  warm, 


310  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

strong  beats,  she  realised  her  own  was  empty,  and  the  beat- 
ing of  his  went  through  it  with  a  hollow  sound,  and  her 
thoughts  were  away  with  the  other  man.  Pelham,  though 
she  spoke  little,  evading  and  turning  aside  his  burning 
questions,  was  keenly  aware  of  the  state  she  was  in,  and  felt 
an  almost  overwhelming  dismay  as  he  saw  the  ground  he 
had  lost,  but  he  would  make  a  desperate  fight  for  it  now, 
and  his  whole  soul  rose  to  the  combat.  He  had  looked 
deeply  and  closely  into  the  past  years,  and  into  the  future, 
in  those  hours  spent  alone  on  the  Bosphorus;  he  had  asked 
himself  the  question,  "Now,  do  I  want  this  woman  or  not? 
For  I  am  on  the  point  of  losing  her,"  and  with  agonised 
distress  he  had  realised  that  he  did  want  her.  However 
foolishly  for  his  own  interests  he  had  acted  in  neglecting 
and  undervaluing  his  possession  while  he  had  it,  he  did  the 
very  best  and  utmost  now  to  regain  it.  In  this  crisis,  in 
which  he  recognised  a  day  or  an  hour  might  lose  him  all,  he 
showed  those  qualities  that  lay  in  the  greater  side  of  his 
nature,  his  decision,  strength  of  will,  immediate  compre- 
hension of  the  situation,  when  he  had  been  blind  so  long. 
He  had  given  up  their  suite  of  expensive  rooms,  sacrificing 
the  rent,  he  had  arranged  that  they  should  leave  for  London 
at  once,  a  plan  that  would  give  her  her  often-expressed 
desire  and  remove  her  instantly  from  the  new  influence. 
Profiting  wisely  by  her  unresistingness  he  forced  his  presence, 
his  kisses,  his  embraces  upon  her  to  exclude  the  vision  of 
his  rival,  and  though  he  did  not  succeed  in  doing  this  he 
succeeded  in  troubling  her,  weakening  her  decision,  making 
her  hesitate.  Time,  at  least,  was  gained. 

When  the  rosy  glow  of  dawn  filled  her  room  this  morning, 
and  later  the  warm  sunlight  fell  all  about  her  bed,  it  found 
her  lying  back,  wide-eyed,  amongst  the  fine  linen  and  laces, 
confused,  oppressed  and  undecided.  Her  hair  lay  in  ruffled 
silky  waves  over  the  pillow,  her  face  was  pale  without  its 
wonderful  bright  tints,  but  the  beauty  of  her  features,  the 
well-modelled  nose,  the  short  upper  lip,  and  soft,  curling 
crimson  mouth,  struck  Pelham  as  it  had  never  yet  done. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  311 

Bright  is  the  light  of  imminent  loss,  and  men  can  see  much 
by  it. 

He  brought  her  a  cup  of  chocolate,  and,  after  setting 
it  on  a  little  table  by  the  bed,  stood  and  looked  down  upon 
her.  The  stress  of  passion  that  had  swept  over  him  last 
night,  its  gratification,  had  not  exhausted,  not  even  satisfied 
him:  the  blood  beat  round  his  temples,  his  heart  moved 
nervously.  He  had  never  realised  how  lovely  and  how 
dear  she  was,  his  possession,  till  now,  and  now  another  was 
planning  to  enjoy  it,  steal  her,  and  she,  in  her  thoughts, 
consenting.  This  was  the  idea  that  really  cut  and  spurred 
his  brain.  Others  had  coveted  her  already  and  left  him 
unmoved,  because  he  had  felt,  on  her  side,  there  was  no 
response  to  them.  But  now  this  was  wholly  different.  And 
the  knowledge  that  Blakney  was  poor,  that  he  had  nothing 
but  himself  to  offer,  drove  the  spur  deeper.  It  was  the  man 
himself,  and  that  alone,  that  attracted  her.  It  was  for  this 
she  was  desiring  to  leave  him.  And  ah,  how  she  would 
give  herself,  as  she  had  once  given  herself  to  him!  that  pas- 
sionate rapture  of  self -surrender  he  had  known!  It  should 
never  be  for  another.  The  blood  came  into  his  face,  his 
jaws  set  a  little.  The  girl,  looking  at  him,  divined  his 
thoughts. 

"He  might  even  kill  me  first,  if  it  came  to  the  point," 
she  thought  suddenly,  but  the  thought  did  not  prevent  her 
saying,  after  she  had  thanked  him  for  the  chocolate, — 

"Eustace,  I  said  I  would  see  Blakney  again  this  even- 
ing. You  will  not  mind  my  going  while  you  are  at  the  Em- 
bassy,  will  you  ?" 

She  had  raised  herself  on  one  elbow;  the  delicate  lace 
sleeve  fell  down  from  it,  showing  its  white  loveliness. 

"No,  I  suppose  you  will  want  to  say  good-bye  to  him." 

"I  don't  know  if  I  shall  say  good-bye,"  was  what  Lydia 
thought,  but  she  said  nothing. 

Through  the  day  she  sat  idle  and  listless  on  the  balcony, 
looking  out  into  golden  space.  She  felt  she  could  not  do 
anything,  and  Pelham  did  not  ask  her  to.  He  was  very 


312 

busy  himself,  packing  up,  paying  bills,  and  arranging  every- 
thing for  their  departure.  In  the  little  intercourse  they 
had  with  each  other  through  that  day  he  was  exceedingly 
gentle  and  kind  in  manner,  said,  did  and  looked  everything 
that  was  charming,  and  once  the  tears  started  suddenly 
to  Lydia's  eyes  as  the  thought  stung  her,  "What  a  pity  to 
have  wasted  those  years  they  had  spent  together  when  he 
could,  with  apparently  no  effort,  be  like  this!  How  useless 
it  was  now.  What  priceless  happiness  it  would  have  given 
her  then!" 

Idle  though  she  seemed,  her  thoughts  were  not  idle. 
Pelham's  action  in  starting  immediately  for  England  forced 
her  to  decide  the  next  step  for  her  to  take.  Either  she  must 
go  with  him  or  join  Blakney  and  marry  him,  and  after  last 
night,  after  the  sudden  reversing  of  all  that  had  led  her  to 
her  decision  to  leave  Pelham,  she  felt  she  was  not  ready  to 
adhere  to  that  decision,  not  ready  to  be  precipitated  into 
that  course,  until  she  had  viewed  it  under  its  new  aspects. 
No,  she  would  accompany  Pelham  to  England,  and  then 
see  how  thoughts  and  decisions  moulded  themselves  within 
her,  how  outside  events  influenced  her.  Perhaps  Pelham, 
in  England,  surrounded  with  his  own  friends,  back  in  his 
own  life  and  environment,  might  find  new  attractions  there 
and  become  willing  to  part  with  her.  If  he  would  part  from 
her  voluntarily  how  gladly  she  would  go!  But  to  leave  him 
when  he  adjured  her,  implored  her  to  stay,  seemed  to  her  like 
some  sin  from  which  she  shrank,  and  which  she  would  never 
have  the  courage  to  commit,  a  sin  similar  to  those  he  had 
committed  against  her.  So  she  made  her  decision  to  go 
with  him,  and  looked  upon  her  interview  with  Blakney 
that  evening  as  a  farewell,  even  if  only  a  temporary  one. 
But  like  all  decisions  to  do  our  duty,  which  runs  contrary 
to  our  desires,  it  brought  no  rest  or  satisfaction  with  it. 
She  felt  miserable  and  wretched.  She  longed  to  stay  here 
with  Blakney,  longed  to  be  with  him,  comforted  by  his 
presence.  All  her  personal  feelings  swayed  her  violently 
towards  him.  Pelham,  for  the  moment,  had  lost  all  power 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  313 

over  her  to  please,  soothe  or  satisfy.  Her  mind  lay  scream- 
ing on  the  floor  of  Life's  shop  for  this  new  toy  in  it,  like  an 
ill-governed  child  refusing  the  old  one  vainly  offered  by  its 
gentle  nurse.  It  was  only  her  principle  of  avoiding  the 
infliction  of  pain  on  others,  to  which  she  blindly  adhered, 
that  saved  Pelham  then.  When  he  came  out  on  the  bal- 
cony to  tea,  her  innate  gentle  breeding  forced  her  to  cover 
her  feelings,  wretched  though  she  felt,  and  smile  and  talk 
pleasantly  to  him.  Pelham  felt  an  immeasurable  relief 
when  she  spoke  of  having  time  to  pack  her  things  after 
dinner  and  being  ready  to  start  in  the  morning.  She  was 
coming  then!  His  heart  flew  upward  with  unbounded 
joy  and  relief.  A  sense  of  being  suddenly  freed  from  an 
iron  constriction  possessed  him.  A  cold  black  terror  had 
been  about  him,  an  icy,  paralysing  dread  that  he  had  really 
irretrievably  lost  her.  For  the  last  twenty-four  hours  he 
had  felt  as  a  man  clinging  with  teeth  and  hands  to  the  face 
of  a  precipice,  struggling  to  regain  a  lost  foothold.  Now 
he  felt  as  one  feels  when  the  foothold  is  regained,  the  bound- 
ing, exultant  joy  of  life,  almost  lost,  restored.  The  precipice 
still  yawns  below,  there  are  other  dangers  to  be  faced,  but 
for  the  moment  one  is  safe. 

Pelham  asked  no  questions:  he  was  afraid.  He  knew 
nothing  of  her  thoughts  or  views,  or  ultimate  intentions, 
but  for  the  present  there  was  respite.  Blakney  would  be 
left,  she  was  coming  with  him!  Time  would  be  given  him. 
In  that  he  would  regain  her.  Never,  never  would  he  let 
her  go  from  him. 

They  drank  their  tea  together  in  the  limpid  yellow  light 
of  the  Turkish  afternoon,  and  talked  of  their  prospective 
journey.  It  seemed  to  Pelham  he  had  never  known  happi- 
ness till  now.  After  tea  they  went  to  their  rooms,  and  he 
kissed  her  and  said  he  should  not  be  long  at  the  Embassy, 
and  would  be  back  to  dinner.  Then  he  left  her.  He  hated 
the  thought  that  she  was  going  to  the  Russian,  but  in  the 
savage  goading  of  the  idea  he  kept  repeating  to  himself  it 
was  the  last  time,  and  he  was  too  wise  to  lay  any  embargo 


314  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

on  her  going.  Matters  were  at  too  acute  and  sensitive  a 
balance  between  them :  a  breath  would  disturb  it.  He  went, 
trusting  to  her  honour,  and  Lydia,  after  a  few  restless  wan- 
derings in  their  rooms,  descended  the  stairs  and  went  out. 

Blakney  and  she  had  arranged  to  meet  at  the  top  of  the 
hill,  under  the  boughs  that  had  spread  above  them,  so  warmly 
gold,  the  previous  night,  and  she  climbed  very  slowly  up- 
ward, the  little  narrow  path  over  rock  and  fern,  and  through 
the  long,  dewy,  tangled  grass.  It  seemed  as  if  two  hands 
were  laid  upon  her  heart,  one  hot,  one  cold,  dragging  it  in 
opposite  directions.  How  differently  she  felt  now  from 
last  night.  The  clanking  weight  of  iron  fetters  seemed  upon 
her.  She  was  like  a  prisoner  upon  whom,  after  a  short 
hour's  liberty,  the  chains  are  laid  again.  She  felt  now,  that 
happy  as  she  was  with  Blakney,  great  as  the  feelings  were  that 
he  had  roused,  after  the  self-revelation  of  Pelham,  she  could 
not  abandon  him  for  the  other.  Why  she  could  not  she  did 
not  quite  know.  She  thought  it  was  perhaps  the  instinctive 
horror  she  had  of  the  remorse  that  would  be  sure  to  follow 
if  she  were  unkind  to  him.  She  had  been  unkind  to  her 
husband  and  how  miserable  she  had  been!  She  had  deserted 
her  duty,  laid  aside  her  first  purchase,  hoping  to  exchange  it 
for  a  better  one,  and  what  a  failure  it  had  all  been!  What 
unhappiness,  what  disappointment,  what  self-reproach  she 
had  endured!  Now,  were  she  to  leave  Pelham,  would  it 
be  all  that  over  again  ?  If  she  could  have  gone  from  Pel- 
ham,  convinced  he  needed  her  no  longer,  how  joyfully  she 
would  have  taken  her  freedom!  She  knew,  she  had  felt 
last  night,  that  her  passion  for  him  was  dead.  Brilliant, 
wonderful,  tropic  bloom  it  had  been  that  she  had  offered  him, 
the  whole  radiant  expansion  of  that  strangely  passionate 
nature,  and  he  had  gathered  it,  caught  by  its  rich  hues,  and 
then  crushed  it  under  his  heel.  Now  it  was  dead,  and  he 
lifted  it  up,  and  his  agony  and  tears  were  of  no  avail  to  restore 
a  single  petal.  What  a  brute  he  had  been,  she  thought, 
why,  why  should  she  consider  him  now?  Did  he  consider 
others?  She  recalled  the  horribly  bleeding  deer  that  had 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  315 

fled,  maimed  and  shattered,  from  his  gun,  a  picture  that  al- 
ways infused  a  loathing  of  him  through  her  thoughts;  the 
cruel  way  in  which  the  half-dead  water-fowl  had  been  flung 
into  the  boat  by  him  on  that  still,  golden  evening  when  they 
had  sat  in  their  boat  amongst  the  tall,  green,  glistening 
reeds,  and  her  hands  clenched  in  a  spasm  of  anger  as  she 
walked. 

"Then  I  was  tied  by  my  own  accursed  passion  for  him; 
now  I  have  none:  must  I  still  stay  with  him,  tied  to  him 
now,  by  pity  for  him,  who  has  never  pitied  others?"  And 
she  felt  she  would  not,  and  could  not  stay,  and  her  feet 
bounded  up  more  quickly  the  uneven  slope. 

Then  the  vision  came  of  Pelham  leaving  Constantinople 
to-morrow,  of  going  out,  away  from  her,  into  the  wide  world, 
and  being  for  ever  lost  to  her.  Would  she  ever  regret  it? 
And  again,  cruel,  dishonourable,  detestable  as  he  had  been, 
and  would,  doubtless,  be  again,  would  not  this  other  for 
whom  she  exchanged  him  be  as  bad,  or  worse  ?  Even  if  not 
in  the  same  ways,  in  others  ? 

After  all,  since  all  the  toys  in  Life's  shop  are  wooden  and 
worm-eaten  and  rotten,  was  it  worth  while  to  bother  to 
change  one  for  the  other?  A  great,  grey  blankness  came 
suddenly  over  all  her  thoughts,  tears  blotted  out  the  glorious 
gold  light  of  all  around  her.  She  sank  suddenly  down  on 
a  stone  in  the  path,  half-way  up  the  hill. 

"Lydia!"  Two  arms  came  suddenly  round  her,  she 
was  lifted  wholly  up  off  the  ground  and  clasped  to  a  living 
breast.  She  looked  up  and  saw  Blakney's  face  above  her, 
bent  down  to  hers,  with  the  extreme  eagerness  of  passion 
stamped  on  it.  It  repelled  her  just  then.  She  closed  her 
eyes  that  she  might  not  see  it,  while  he  kissed  her. 

"Dearest,  that  wretched  hill  was  too  much  for  you.  I 
am  so  sorry.  You  are  quite  done  up.  What  a  fool  I  was  to 
let  you  come  up  it." 

"No,  oh,  no,  it's  not  the  hill.  Oh,  Ivan,  it's  all  so  dread- 
ful. We  are  going  away  to-morrow,  and  I  don't  know  what 
to  do." 


316  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Blakney  had  taken  one  of  the  moss-covered  stones  on 
the  hillside  for  a  seat,  drawing  her  down  with  him. 

"We?"  he  repeated.     "Who  do  you  mean?" 

"Eustace  has  decided  to  go  to  England  to-morrow." 

"Well,  let  him  go!  It's  nothing  to  us.  I  should  think 
he  would  want  to  go.  \Ve  will  be  married  immediately, 
and  go  home,  or  stay  here,  just  as  you  like." 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  think  I  can.  There  was  such  a  terrible 
business  last  night.  He  does  not  want  to  part  with  me 
after  all,  and  I  can't,  can't  marry  you,  or  do  anything,  as 
far  as  I  can  see." 

"But  why  ?    You  love  me,  don't  you?" 

There  was  a  terrible  intensity  in  Blakney 's  tones.  His 
arms  were  locked  round  her  tightly.  She  looked  up  to  his 
face,  it  was  dead  white,  and  the  eyes  were  filled  with  resent- 
ful light:  its  beauty  commanded  all  her  senses.  She  put 
both  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed,  with  wild  passion, 
the  carved  lips  above  her. 

"  You  know  I  do.  I  love  you,"  she  answered  so  strenu- 
ously, her  whole  form  pressed  to  him,  her  ardent  spirit 
seeming  to  leap  from  her  lips  and  pass  into  his  as  she  kissed 
him,  that  Blakney  was  instantly  satisfied. 

"Then  why  worry  about  anything  else?  Marry  me 
and  all  will  settle  itself  naturally." 

Lydia  said  nothing.  Her  tears  had  ceased,  a  blank 
despair  sat  on  her  face. 

Blakney  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  apprehension  grew 
up  in  him. 

"I  believe  you  love  Pelham,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  strained 
voice. 

"I  have  loved  him,"  returned  Lydia,  "and  now  there 
is  left  a  sense  of  duty,  affection  and  gratitude." 

"Gratitude!"  repeated  Blakney,  with  the  most  intense 
surprise,  "to  that  brute!  After  what  I  have  seen!  His 
manner,  his  way  to  you!" 

"Yes:  gratitude,"  replied  Lydia,  firmly.  "He  bos  been 
a  brute,  as  you  say,  in  heaps  of  ways,  but  half  the  time  un- 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  317 

consciously,  and  of  course,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  done 
lots  of  things  for  me,  been  very  good  too  in  many  ways. 
Nothing  can  blot  out  one's  gratitude  for  the  things  a  person 
has  done  for  one,  even  though  he  treats  one  badly  in  others. 
It  is  like  an  account:  all  done  for  one  stands  on  one  side, 
all  done  against  one  on  the  other." 

"Well,  and  when  you  balance  your  account  is  the  balance 
in  Pelham's  favour  ?  "  asked  Blakney,  bitterly. 

"I  don't  know.  I  am  not  good  at  balancing  accounts: 
it  seems  beyond  me.  All  I  feel  is,  I  can't  leave  him  for 
you,  just  at  this  minute.  I  can't  decide  now  to  leave  him, 
after  last  night." 

"Then  you  do  love  him  still!  You  love  us  both!"  ex- 
claimed Ivan,  incredulously,  savagely,  as  if  this  simplest 
fact  of  nature  were  impossible  to  grasp. 

"It  may  be  that.  You  know  how  handsome  you  are: 
you  must  know  that.  It  is  impossible  that  when  I  see  you 
and  know  that  you  love  me  I  should  not  love  you:  I  want 
you,  long  for  you,  delight  in  your  beauty — "  and  she 
stretched  out  her  arms  to  him  with  a  gesture  of  inexpressible 
longing. 

Blakney  caught  her  hands  and  held  them  to  his  breast. 

"Your  face  commands  me  to  love  you.  I  cannot  do 
otherwise,  but  all  that  passion,  that  desire  for  you,  cannot 
sweep  away  entirely  the  emotions,  the  feelings,  the  ties 
that  kave  been  growing  for  two  years.  I  do  feel  an  affec- 
tionate consideration  for  Eustace.  I  have  nursed  him  from 
death  to  life.  I  can't  throw  him  aside  now,  when  he  appeals 
to  me,  wants  me.  If  he  did  not  I  would  come  to  you  directly. 
It  is  passion  that  calls  me  to  you,  affection  that  holds  me  to 
him.  He  and  I  are  bound  together  by  so  many  common 
experiences,  so  many  memories.  What  is  there  between 
you  and  me?  At  present  nothing,  only  the  demand  your 
beauty  makes  on  my  senses." 

Blakney  listened  to  this  speech  dumfoundered.  Men 
so  seldom  hear  the  truth  of  women's  emotions.  Women, 
generally,  do  not  know  the  truth  of  them,  and  if  they  do 


318  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

they  have  not  the  power  of  expressing  and  explaining  them- 
selves. 

He  stared  down  upon  her,  white  to  the  lips,  as  wave 
after  wave  of  surging  emotion  swept  over  him.  He  did 
not  understand  her,  did  not  grasp  her  feeling  or  see  her  view. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  for  a  man  to  do  so,  for  a  man 
would  not  have  acted,  felt,  or  thought,  as  she  did.  A  man, 
having  suffered  at  a  woman's  hands,  and  having  had  his 
love  rejected  or  ill-used,  would  have  felt  no  scruple  at  all 
in  abandoning  the  woman  when  called  to  a  new  love,  how- 
ever the  woman  might  plead,  however  well  he  might  realise 
her  love,  her  repentance,  her  anguish.  A  man  usually  follows 
his  inclination,  even  without  justification.  Here,  where 
there  was  certainly  justification  for  Lydia,  if  she  chose  to 
leave  Pelham  and  come  to  him,  no  man  could  understand  her 
hesitation  for  one  instant.  Men  cannot  understand  the  word 
"duty"  in  sexual  relations.  They  know  what  is  meant  by 
"duty"  on  the  field  of  battle,  duty  to  their  country,  duty  in 
business,  in  finance,  but  the  idea  of  duty  in  love  is  one  their 
brains  are  not  apparently  constructed  to  be  able  to  grasp. 
Inclination  rules  a  man's  love  matters  throughout.  Nature, 
in  this,  is  on  his  side  and  willed  it  should  be  so,  since  while 
a  female  may  receive,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  or  a  thousand 
other  reasons,  the  gift  of  life,  the  male  can  only  confer  it, 
swayed  by,  and  under  the  dominion  of,  his  inclination. 
Blakney,  then,  completely  uncomprehending  of  her  state, 
felt  fire  rushing  all  over  his  brain  as  he  looked  at  and  listened 
to  her.  He  saw  that,  in  some  strange  way,  Pelham  had  re- 
gained, temporarily  at  least,  his  ascendency  over  her,  and 
the  thought  that  she  was  withdrawing  from  himself,  that 
actually  to-morrow  she  was  going  from  him,  maddened 
him  beyond  endurance.  He  felt  he  could  take  her  and  kill 
her  in  his  arms  rather  than  let  her  go  from  him  with  this 
other.  He  struggled  with  the  emotion  and  gained  the 
upper  hand  of  it,  but  his  thoughts  were  all  in  chaos.  Her 
words,  just  uttered,  suggested  to  him  that  perhaps  she  was 
anxious  to  retain  such  position,  comfort  and  ease  as  Pelham 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  319 

could  give,  that  she  dreaded  the  poverty  she  must  face  with 
himself,  and  yet  she  loved  him— had  she  not  just  said  so? 
Like  a  man,  again,  he  emphasised  the  passion  for  physical 
possession,  under-estimated  the  aesthetic,  refined  spirit  of 
love,  that  in  a  nature  like  hers  must  always  be  the  first,  the 
paramount  influence.  With  the  blood  tearing  and  flying 
all  over  his  body,  he  flung  himself  beside  her  and  put  his 
arms  round  her. 

"  I  love  you,  I  want  you,  you  know  how  I  do,  but  I  suppose 
it  is  selfish  of  me  to  ask  you  to  give  up  Pelham.  I  have 
nothing  to  offer,  he  has  everything.  Give  yourself  to  me 
and  I  will  be  content.  I  will  follow  you  to  England,  anywhere. 
We  can  be  all  the  world  to  each  other." 

He  had  strained  her  to  him,  and  was  kissing  her,  in  a 
blind  fury,  before  she  could  resist  him,  but  she  had  heard 
all  his  words  clearly,  and  they  incensed  and  froze  her  at 
the  same  time.  She  saw  how  entirely  she  was  misunder- 
stood; she  felt  as  a  woman  always  feels  with  men,  how  low 
their  standards  of  honour  are,  how  grovelling  their  ideas 
and  perceptions.  She  resented  his  embrace  and  struck 
his  breast,  pushing  him  from  her,  and  burst  apart  his  arms. 
Hitherto  buoyed  up  with  the  thought  of  her  indifference  to 
Pelham  and  the  security  of  their  approaching  marriage, 
Blakney  had  treated  her  as  a  man  treats  his  fiancee,  and 
she  had  felt  safe  and  happy  in  his  gentle  deference.  Things 
had  swung  suddenly  on  to  new  ground,  and  she  was  white 
and  trembling  with  anger  as  she  faced  him.  On  the  moss, 
beneath  the  lofty,  far-stretching,  crimson  boughs,  in  the  soft, 
rosy  silence,  they  glared  at  each  other  silently  for  a  few 
moments,  the  man  flushed,  with  his  eyes  glittering,  the  woman 
white,  her  eyes  black  with  menace  and  outraged  feeling. 
She  conquered  herself  first,  and  regained  her  speech. 

"You  don't  understand  in  the  least,  Ivan,"  she  said, 
speaking  calmly,  but  with  stormy  emphasis.  "What  a 
contemptible  creature  you  seem  to  think  me!  You  think 
I  am  reluctant  to  leave  Pelham  because  of  his  wealth!  Do 
you  know  that  if  he  lost  everything  and  were  going  into  a 


320  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

garret,  that  then  I  could  never,  never  leave  him  while  he 
wanted  me  ?  That  the  fact  he  has  so  much  of  all  this  world 
can  give  is  the  one  thing  that  makes  it  possible  for  me  to 
think  of  leaving  him  and  coming  to  you?  Do  you  believe 
that  or  don't  you?  And  next,  do  you  not  feel  that  as  long 
as  I  am  with  Pelham,  and  kept  by  him,  I  would  die  rather 
than  do  anything  he  might  not  see  or  hear  ?  If  I  say  good-bye 
to  him,  and  become  yours,  that  is  different,  but  while  I  am 
his,  and  he  trusts  me,  I  shall  be  faithful  to  him,  as  I  should 
be  to  you  if  I  were  yours.  Do  you  understand  that  ?  I 
don't  suppose  you  do.  I  don't  know  that  it  matters  whether 
you  do  or  not,"  and  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  away. 
Blakney  sprang  to  his  feet  and  followed  her.  He  was  beside 
her  in  an  instant  and  had  taken  her  hand. 

"Do  forgive  me,"  he  said,  lifting  it  to  his  lips,  and  pressing 
them,  quivering  and  burning,  upon  it.  "I  am  beside  my- 
self. Think  what  it  is  for  me!  Only  last  night  we  were 
talking  of  our  marriage,  how  soon  we  could  arrange  it, 
and  now  you  tell  me  you  are  going  away  with  Pelham.  How 
have  you  got  so  drawn  to  him  again  ?  I  can't  understand  it, 
and  yet  I  do.  He  is  jealous  of  me,  his  jealousy  has  re- 
aroused  his  passion,  he  has  persuaded  you  to  stay  with  him. 
You  are  going  to  leave  me,  give  me  up." 

Lydia's  heart  melted,  her  anger  disappeared.  A  sense 
of  wrong-doing  oppressed  her.  She  sank  down  on  a  fallen 
pine  beside  them. 

"It  seems  I  can't  help  being  unkind  to  someone,"  she 
said  hopelessly. 

Blakney  took  his  seat  beside  her.  His  face  was  white 
and  drawn,  his  hands  shook. 

"You  are  going  back  to  him,"  he  persisted.  "You 
want  me  to  give  you  up  ?  " 

"Not  exactly — what  I  thought  was  this:  Eustace  is 
unwilling  to  give  me  up  now." 

She  would  not  put  it  more  strongly,  she  felt  it  dishonour- 
able to  show  one  man's  soul  to  another.  She  would  only  say 
of  Eustace  the  least  that  was  necessary. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  321 

"But  it  may  not  always  be  like  that.  If  I  go  to  England 
with  him,  and  you  stay  here  quietly,  as  I  wish,  I  think  his 
own  life  may  absorb  him  again.  I  can  withdraw  gradually, 
become  less  to  him.  What  I  hope  is,  in  his  own  circle, 
surrounded  by  his  own  friends  and  interests,  I  shall  become 
of  less  value  to  him.  I  may  even  be  something  of  an  in- 
convenience. He  is  always  sought  after — we  cannot  tell 
what  may  happen.  He  will  perhaps,  later,  let  me  go  gladly, 
and  then  I  will  come  to  you.  That  is  my  idea  in  consenting 
to  go  to  England  now." 

She  stopped.  Blakney  did  not  reply.  He  stared  fixedly 
at  the  green  moss  at  their  feet  without  seeing  it,  his  brows 
contracted. 

"But  I  don't  believe  it  will  be  as  you  say:  he  won't 
want  to  give  you  up :  he  never  will  now.  .  .  .  Think  of  me 
here  .  .  .  think  of  the  suspense." 

"Would  you  rather  me  say  good-bye  finally  to  you  and 
end  it  here  ?" 

"No.    Oh,  no!    No!    Not  that." 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  rocked  himself  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  silence. 

Lydia,  watching  him,  felt  a  great  ache  in  her  heart,  as 
if  a  cavern  were  opening  in  it. 

She  reproached  herself,  hated  herself  for  having  misled 
him,  but  how  could  she  tell  that  Pelham  really  cared  so 
much?  Besides,  whatever  she  had  done  he  would  have 
fallen  in  love  with  her  just  the  same,  and  suffered  nearly 
the  same. 

The  sunlight  falling  on  his  head  turned  the  hair  to  bright 
gold;  the  ear  that  she  could  see  above  his  clenched  fingers 
was  white  as  a  statue's  and  beautifully  shaped;  the  neck 
that  rose  above  the  collar  was  beautiful  also.  She  felt  utterly 
wretched,  full  of  a  sick  longing  to  throw  herself  into  his 
arms  and  let  Pelham  and  her  ideas  of  duty  go,  let  him  be  as 
unhappy  as  he  liked,  to  give  pleasure  to  this  man,  and  find 
it  in  his  arms.  She  could  not  feel  sure,  in  face  of  his  misery, 
that  she  was  doing  right  either:  she  might  only  be  rather 
21 


322  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

foolish,  and  perhaps  Pelham  would  tell  her  so  one  day  him- 
self. Still,  memories  of  last  night  rose  before  her,  and  it 
seemed  that  to  leave  him  would  be  like  raising  her  hand  to 
murder  him,  and  she  could  not  do  it. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Blakney  at  last,  raising  his  head,  "are 
you  going  to  live  with  him  in  England  as  you  have  been 
doing  here  ?  " 

"No,"  returned  Lydia,  meeting  his  angry,  bloodshot, 
miserable  eyes  with  hers.  "No.  I  shall  have  my  own 
rooms  and  he  will  have  his  or  go  to  his  country  place.  I 
want  him,  don't  you  see,  to  live  his  own  life,  away  from  me, 
to  get  drawn  to  other  people.  Besides,  I  don't  want  to 
live  with  him  any  more.  I  want  to  be  quiet,  somewhere 
where  I  can  think  about  you  and  write  to  you,  and  look 
forward  to  your  coming  over." 

A  great  weight  of  burning  misery  seemed  to  roll  off 
Blakney  as  she  spoke.  He  tried  to  shut  out  Pelham  from 
his  thoughts.  She  was  more  like  his  dear  little  fiancee  of 
last  evening  again  now.  He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her. 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  I  may  come  over?"  he 
asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I  will  write  and  tell  you  directly  you 
may." 

After  that  they  sat  silent.  There  seemed  nothing  more 
to  be  said.  The  light  dropped  gradually  round  them,  the 
lovely  clear  rose  changed  to  a  tender,  mysterious  mauve, 
the  gold  vanished  from  sky  and  water,  the  silver  light  of 
planet  and  star  showed  through  the  branches  above  them. 

Just  at  the  last,  when  she  had  said  she  must  go,  the  man 
seemed  to  throw  from  him  all  they  had  saio!  and  agreed: 
reasons  and  theories  fell  away  from  him,  he  implored  her, 
folded  tightly  in  his  arms,  to  his  breast,  to  come  away  with 
him  then  and  there,  they  could  take  the  boat  to  Odessa 
and  be  married  as  soon  as  possible.  They  were  on  the  way 
to  the  Black  Sea;  unknown  though  it  was  to  her,  it  was 
his  country  beyond.  If  she  would  trust  herself  to  him  all 
would  be  well,  love  would  smooth  the  way  for  them,  find 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  323 

out  a  path  through  all  difficulties.  And  all  her  leaping 
frame  seemed  to  answer  him,  body  and  mind  responded  to 
him.  She,  who  loved  adventure  and  excitement  and  cared 
so  little  for  pain  or  discomfort,  how  the  dangers  and  the 
difficulties  invited  her!  Flight  by  night  over  those  enchanted 
waters  lighted  by  the  stars,  the  crossing  of  the  Euxine  that 
lies  so  vague,  so  mysterious,  beyond  the  guarding  rocks  at 
the  head  of  the  Bosphorus!  Entering  Russia,  a  new,  un- 
known country,  with  him!  With  him!  All  sorts  of  good 
and  evil  fortunes  awaiting  her  there,  to  be  shared  with  him! 
He  loved  her,  and  through  all,  those  protecting  arms  would 
be  about  her.  She  clung  to  his  neck  and  breast,  feeling  how 
intensely  she  loved  and  coveted  this  splendid  frame.  Living, 
starved  and  desolate,  with  Pelham,  he  had  found  her,  and 
brought  back  the  sunlight  and  joy  of  life  to  her.  She  longed 
to  go  with  him.  The  screech  of  a  steamer  on  the  Bosphorus, 
invisible  now  in  the  darkness  below  them,  seemed  to  call  to 
her.  She  saw  herself  stepping  on  to  the  boat,  its  swift  pas- 
sage up  the  familiar  strait,  past  the  white  palaces  and  the 
cypress  groves,  with  the  Turkish  moon  just  climbing  up 
over  them,  and  then  the  change  of  steamer  at  the  junction, 
with  the  pale  wide  sea  beyond,  the  unknown  sea  on  which 
they  would  be  borne  to  unknown  shores!  She  saw  the 
Russian  ship,  the  narrow  interior  of  the  Odessa  boat,  the 
water  cleaving  asunder  beneath  their  bows  as  they  went  on 
and  on,  leaving  Pelham,  and  Constantinople,  and  the  old 
life  and  ties  behind.  She  saw  the  faint  dim  shores,  the  play 
of  silver  sheen  on  the  smooth  dark  ripples,  and  then  herself, 
descending  to  their  tiny  cabin,  where  the  rush  of  the  water 
could  be  heard  against  the  side,  oil-lighted  and  close,  fitted 
with  two  narrow  berths,  where  one  would  have  sufficed. 
Filled  with  the  magic  of  love's  delight,  she  would  sink  into 
oblivion  on  that  breast,  that  was  the  crowning  joy  of  all, 
those  arms  tightly  folded  round  her,  to  wake  to  a  new  to- 
morrow, a  new  love,  a  new  life,  in  a  new  land.  It  was  a 
bitter  and  terrible  struggle,  full  of  sharp  anguish,  to  resist, 
for  everything  begged,  and  swayed,  and  pushed  her  to  yield; 


324  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

there  was  only  that  one  little  bland  of  consideration  for 
another  that  stood  firm  in  the  wild  swirl  of  the  waters  of 
temptation. 

It  was  over  at  last,  and  she  was  out  of  his  clasp,  and 
blinded  with  tears,  her  heart  bursting  with  resentful  dis- 
appointment, her  feet  stumbling,  she  made  her  way  down 
the  hill.  The  night  was  full  of  voluptuous  sighs,  of  rich 
perfumes:  light,  wandering  airs  caressed  the  girl's  face 
and  lifted  her  hair  from  her  hot  forehead.  The  lights  of 
countless  lamps  spangled  all  the  slopes  of  the  hills  and  the 
shores  of  the  Bosphorus  below  her,  and  round  her,  just  as 
the  stars  spangled  the  sky.  Strains  of  music  from  the  string 
band  reached  her  from  the  hotel  as  she  descended.  The 
moon  lifted  her  tiny  yellow  horn  above  the  fir  trees  behind 
her  in  the  deep  purple  sky. 

Half-way  down  she  descried  suddenly  a  slim,  straight 
figure  ascending  towards  her:  a  moment  after  Pelham's 
voice  came  out  of  the  darkness,  and  it  was  very  gentle  and 
tender. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  find  you.  I  was  getting  anxious  about 
you." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEN  Pelham  and  Lydia  arrived  in  London  they  separated, 
Pelham  to  go  to  rooms  near  his  club,  and  Lydia  to  find  some 
for  herself.  This  was  her  wish.  Pelham,  in  desperation, 
had  vainly  urged  upon  her  that  they  should  be  married. 
Vainly  urged  now  that  which  a  little  while  back  would  have 
been  so  enthusiastically  welcomed  and  would  have  given 
so  much  joy.  So  does  the  kaleidoscope  of  Time  turn  on 
before  our  eyes,  and  with  each  turn  a  new  pattern  of  its 
wondrous  colours  captivates  our  fancy. 

Marriage  with  Pelham,  the  idea  of  which  had  made  the 
blood  dance  in  her  veins,  and  her  heart  sing  for  joy,  was 
firmly  refused  by  Lydia  now,  with  the  gold  and  white  of  the 
Russian's  face  before  her.  She  had  refused  to  accept  mar- 
riage with  him  also,  but  she  still  longed  after  it  and  coveted 
it,  and  while  she  respected  the  old  ties  to  Pelham  the  thought 
of  adding  one  more  link  to  the  chain  that  bound  her  to  the 
man  she  had  once  so  longed  to  bind  to  her,  filled  her  with 
horror. 

"Let  me  come  and  help  you  find  your  rooms  at  least," 
Pelham  had  urged,  but  Lydia  had  gently  refused.  It  was 
impossible  in  London,  in  the  centre  of  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances, for  them  to  live  together  without,  at  least, 
giving  out  that  they  were  married,  and  to  this  Lydia  would 
not  consent. 

"You  go  to  your  rooms  and  lead  your  own  bachelor 
life,"  she  said;  "whenever  you  want  me  come  to  me,  but 
for  the  present  I  am  not  in  your  life,  officially  or  publicly." 

"You  will  wire  me  directly  you  have  found  your  place 
then,  will  you?"  Pelham  urged. 

325 


326  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"Yes,  I  will  wire,"  Lydia  assented. 

At  Charing  Cross  lie  kissed  her  and  saw  her  into  a  cab. 
He  had  given  her  money,  and  she  had  accepted  it  simply. 
She  had  none  and  she  was  still  his  property.  When  the 
cab  drove  on  and  her  bright  rosy  face  and  smiling  eyes 
were  taken  away  from  his  vision,  a  great  depression  came 
over  him.  For  two  years,  night  and  day,  she  had  been 
beside  him,  hardly  so  much  as  an  hour  had  seen  them  sep- 
arated, and  never  in  all  that  time  had  the  eyes  frowned 
or  the  lips  uttered  one  unkind  word  to  him.  In  all  his  life, 
in  all  the  world,  could  he  find  another  fellow-being  like  her? 
The  query  seemed  suddenly  to  loom  out  before  him  and 
overshadow  everything  else.  He  mechanically  saw  his 
luggage  put  on  to  a  cab  and  got  into  it,  a  prey  to  a  great 
sadness.  What  a  fool  he  had  been,  he  told  himself  over  and 
over  again,  to  be  loved  so  much  by  such  a  woman  and  to 
lose  her,  but  he  would  not,  no,  he  would  not  lose  her,  he 
vowed  within  himself,  and  damned  Blakney  over  and  over 
again  in  his  thoughts.  Now,  as  he  looked  round  on  his  life, 
seeing  it  in  imagination  without  her,  it  looked  to  him  abso- 
lutely desolate. 

He  reached  his  rooms;  dull  and  cheerless  enough  they 
seemed,  and  the  absence  of  the  sweet  familiar  face,  the  soft 
caressing  voice,  made  an  emptiness  about  him  that  was 
simply  appalling.  He  read  a  few  letters,  and  then  sat  idly 
in  his  chair  longing  for,  awaiting  her  telegram,  with  an  agony 
of  expectancy.  He  let  the  servants  bring  him  some  coffee, 
but  he  would  not  order  dinner  here.  He  was  so  sure  her 
wire  would  come  and  he  would  go  to  dine  with  her.  He 
looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  only  five.  He  could  think  of 
nothing,  attend  to  nothing.  He  only  longed  to  be  with  her. 

Time  passed  and  no  one  came  to  disturb  him.  There 
was  no  sound  except  the  distant  rumble  of  the  traffic  and 
the  ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  above  him.  Its 
hands  moved  round  to  seven.  He  got  up  and  went  into 
the  adjoining  room  to  dress.  Amongst  his  letters  on  the 
table  were  several  invitations  for  that  evening,  but  he  left 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  327 

them  lying  there  unnoticed.  The  society  of  his  friends, 
that  he  had  so  often  deplored  the  lack  of  whilst  with  her, 
seemed  now  suddenly  useless,  worthless,  distasteful  to  him 
without  her.  This  struck  him  as  he  passed  the  table  where 
the  letters  were  lying,  and  he  paused,  looking  down  at  them. 
Here  were  his  friends  gathering  round  him  to  welcome 
him  back;  the  woman  who,  as  he  had  so  often  reminded 
her,  kept  him  from  them,  was  gone.  He  was  quite  free  to 
spend  the  evening  how  and  with  whom  he  pleased.  And 
now  he  only  wanted  to  spend  it  with  her!  And  used  his 
freedom  only  to  hang  upon  the  moments,  awaiting  her 
telegram!  He  tossed  the  letters  into  a  heap  and  went  on 
to  his  bedroom. 

Eight  o'clock  came:  still  no  telegram.  Eustace,  in  his 
evening  clothes,  with  his  hat  on,  and  his  overcoat  thrown 
over  his  arm,  that  he  might  be  quite  ready,  sat  in  the  arm- 
chair by  the  fireplace.  He  was  very  empty  and  hungry 
now,  and  needed  his  dinner  badly.  Still,  he  hardly  felt  that. 
He  sat  and  wondered  what  could  have  prevented  her  send- 
ing the  wire  sooner.  Could  anything  have  happened  to 
her,  any  accident  ?  He  felt  uneasy  and  worried,  but  kept 
telling  himself  she  was  sure  to  be  all  right.  That  was  his 
general  phrase  where  other  people  were  concerned,  but  it 
consoled  him  less  than  usual  this  evening.  At  last,  at  eight- 
thirty,  the  familiar  telegraph  knock  came  up  from  the  street, 
and  he  started  from  his  chair.  At  the  door  he  took  the 
telegram  from  the  man's  hand  and  tore  it  open.  It  simply 
contained  the  words:  "I  am  at  this  address,"  giving  the  street 
and  number.  He  went  on  down  the  stairs  and  out,  threw 
himself  into  the  first  hansom  he  could  get,  and  drove  to  her 
place,  feeling  happier  and  lighter  at  heart  than  he  had  ever 
done  since  their  stay  at  Constantinople. 

Lydia  had  found  nice  rooms  for  herself  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Piccadilly,  and  it  was  a  fine,  handsome  drawing- 
room  that  Pelham  entered,  well  lighted  and  cheerful,  with  a 
fire  sparkling  in  the  grate.  She  was  sitting  by  it  reading, 
and  looked  up  in  surprise  as  he  came  in.  She  evidently 


328  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

had  not  expected  him.  She  was  still  in  her  travelling  dress 
but  looked  fresh  and  round  and  radiant,  and  his  heart  rushed 
out  to  her.  He  felt  his  whole  being  full  of  simple  animal 
joy  in  being  with  her  again. 

"Well,"  he  said,  in  a  pleased  tone,  putting  his  hat  on 
the  table  and  coming  over  to  kiss  her,  "why  didn't  you  wire 
sooner?  I  have  been  sitting  starving  and  freezing  in  my 
rooms  a  perfect  eternity." 

Lydia  looked  up  at  him  in  dismay. 

"Why,  I  didn't  think  it  mattered  specially  when  you  got 
the  wire!  and  why  haven't  you  had  your  dinner?" 

"Waited  to  have  it  with  you,  of  course,"  he  returned, 
smiling  down  upon  her  pretty,  distressed  face. 

"  Oh,  Eustace,  I  am  so  sorry!  I  never  thought  you  would. 
I  thought  you  would  dine  at  your  club  or  with  some  friends, 
and  I  haven't  even  ordered  any  dinner!" 

"Haven't  you  had  anything  then  ?" 

"I  had  some  tea  at  five,  that's  all.  I  didn't  seem  to 
want  anything  else,  and  I  thought  I'd  go  to  bed  soon." 

"Well,  we  must  go  out  and  dine  somewhere.  I'm  fright- 
fully hungry." 

She  pulled  forward  an  armchair  for  him,  full  of  distress 
at  his  having  been  kept  waiting  and  hungry  for  her  wire. 
The  sight  of  his  faultless  evening  attire  filled  her  with  self- 
reproach. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said  brightly,  "go  and  change  as 
quickly  as  you  can." 

Nothing  in  fact  seemed  to  matter  now  they  were  together 
again.  The  bedroom  opened  out  of  the  drawing-room, 
through  folding  doors,  and  as  she  passed  in  to  dress,  Eustace 
followed  her  and  looked  round. 

"You've  got  a  nice  little  place  here,"  he  remarked, 
going  over  to  the  glass:  the  electric  light  burned  above  it, 
and  the  whole  room,  with  its  comfortable  curtained  bed, 
was  reflected  in  it.  Lydia  was  on  her  knees  before  her 
portmanteau. 

When  she  was  ready  he  fastened  her  bodice  for  her,  and 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  329 

to  him  it  seemed  as  if  the  happiest  days  of  their  intimacy 
were  re-established  as  he  kissed  the  beautiful  white  neck 
and  round  throat  before  clasping  her  necklet.  She  looked 
splendid,  regal,  in  her  long  dinner-gown,  one  he  had  himself 
chosen  for  her,  with  narrow  bands  of  deep  rose-coloured 
velvet  confining,  imprisoning  as  it  were,  the  bust  and  lying 
against  the  white  flesh  of  neck  and  arm.  She  had  washed 
her  face  previously,  after  the  dust  and  smoke  of  the  journey, 
and  her  skin  looked  transparently  clear  and  pure  against 
the  lustre  of  her  dark  eyes  and  piled-up  masses  of  dark  hair. 
Eustace  looked  upon  her  with  keen  pride  and  joy.  He 
was  now  on  his  own  ground  again,  hunting  down  a  strong, 
independent  creature:  something  free  and  vigorous  that 
might  possibly  escape  him.  She  looked,  as  she  stood  before 
him,  as  superb  and  proudly  full  of  life  and  strength  as  any 
forest  deer  that  had  fallen,  maimed  and  helpless,  before  his 
gun,  and  all  the  old  joy  of  pursuit  rose  up  in  him,  and  the  old 
fire  of  the  chase  burned  in  his  veins. 

Lydia's  mind  was  filled  full  of  the  image  of  another  man, 
but  with  that  wide  range  that  in  some  natures  the  sexual 
impulse  has,  she  was  not  indifferent  to  the  pleasure  that 
Eustace,  in  his  present  mood,  gave  her.  He  was  the  man 
she  had  loved,  and  whose  personality  exercised  over  her,  as 
it  had  done  from  the  first  moment  of  their  meeting,  a  mysteri- 
ous charm. 

"Shall  I  do  now?"  she  said,  smiling  up  at  him  as  he 
put  her  cloak  round  her. 

"You  look  capital,"  he  said  happily,  with  a  bright  look 
in  his  eyes,  and  they  switched  off  the  electric  light  and  went 
out  together. 

He  took  her  to  the  most  expensive  restaurant  in  Picca- 
dilly, and  ordered  an  elaborate  dinner,  with  champagne, 
coffee  and  liqueurs,  and  every  delicacy  the  waiter  could 
suggest.  What  was  the  good  of  his  wealth  if  not  to  be  made 
use  of  on  an  occasion  like  this  ?  He  felt  pleasure  in  spend- 
ing money  upon  her  now.  It  was  a  satisfaction  and  a  balm 
to  him.  They  enjoyed  their  dinner  thoroughly.  It  was 


330  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

late  and  they  really  both  needed  it  after  a  long  and  fatiguing 
day.  Eustace  was  at  his  very  best,  amusing,  charming, 
attentive,  caressing  in  manner  and  way  and  look  and  tone: 
yet  without  a  hint  of  sadness  or  appeal  to  her.  He  seemed 
to  take  it  for  granted  he  was  the  victor,  the  master  of  the 
situation,  that  they  could  no  more  separate  than  that  the 
sun  could  fall,  but  at  the  same  tune  he  showed  her  his  grati- 
tude for  the  decision  to  stay  with  him,  that  he  assumed, 
his  pride  and  delight  in  her.  It  all  combined  to  produce 
a  very  pleasing  impression,  and  Lydia,  looking  across  at 
his  face,  pale  and  with  its  wonderful  look  of  refinement,  of 
distinction  stamped  upon  it,  kept  asking  herself,  "I  wonder 
if  he  would  keep  on  being  like  this  if  I  stayed  with  him?" 
After  dinner  it  was  ten-thirty,  and  he  suggested  driving  round 
to  his  rooms. 

"I  think  I  had  much  better  not.  It  will  make  me  so 
late  getting  back  to  my  place." 

The  lines  of  Eustace's  lips  set  ever  so  little,  a  steel-like 
light  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Let  me  come  to  yours  then." 

"It'll  make  such  a  talk  if  you  come  in  late  and  stay. 
We  must  be  careful.  I  had  better  go  back  alone  now." 

"And  what  shall  I  do,  all  alone  at  my  rooms?" 

Lydia  looked  at  him  across  the  table,  a  smile  in  her  lovely 
eyes.  It  struck  her  as  extremely  amusing,  this  pathetic 
inquiry,  this  bint  of  utter  desolation  because  of  one  night 
alone,  from  the  man  who  had  slept  night  after  night  in  a 
room  close  to  hers,  and  never  sought  her  when  she  had 
longed  for  him  through  the  long,  sleepless  hours  alone. 

However,  she  understood  perfectly.  Then  she  had  been 
the  tame,  captive  creature  penned  up  near  him,  safely  secured, 
possessed  and  subdued.  Now  she  was  the  free,  wild  thing 
escaping  to  the  open. 

"Come  along,  you  must  come,"  he  said,  "you  need  not 
be  very  late,"  and  because  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
obeying  him  she  obeyed  him  now  and  went.  She  felt  happy 
as  they  rose  from  the  table,  and  Eustace  lifted  her  cloak 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  331 

from  the  chair  to  put  it  round  her.  The  wine  was  warm  in 
her  veins,  and  the  light,  the  soft  glow  of  colour  round  her, 
the  low  strain  of  music  from  the  string  band,  playing  Wagner's 
"Abendstern,"  wooed  her  sesthetic  senses.  Glancing  round 
at  the  other  diners,  her  eyes  did  not  fall  upon  one  that  could 
compare  favourably  with  Pelham.  Here  a  stout  red  roll  of 
flesh  rose  above  a  collar,  there  a  bald  head  bent  earnestly 
over  its  soup;  at  this  side  two  very  young  men  with  vacuous 
faces  and  high  collars  were  dining  two  very  pretty  women; 
at  the  opposite  side  a  highly-coloured  young  man's  face, 
with  a  bristly  black  moustache,  stared  at  her  in  a  mirror. 
There  was  no  one  among  them  like  the  one  that  belonged  to 
her,  she  thought,  as  she  glanced  at  Eustace  with  his  tall  slim 
figure,  pale  skin  and  finely-cut  features,  the  whole  expression 
of  intelligence  and  character  that  sat  on  them,  the  exceedingly 
well-bred  air.  She  gathered  her  cloak  round  her,  and  hi 
another  minute  they  were  driving  side  by  side  to  Pelham's 
rooms. 

It  was  three  hours  later  when  she  let  herself  in  with  her 
latchkey  to  her  own  place.  Upstairs  she  found  her  fire  out 
and  the  rooms  in  complete  darkness.  She  passed  into  her 
bedroom,  switched  on  the  light,  and  slipped  thankfully  into 
bed,  physically  exhausted.  A  vague  sense  of  humiliation 
weighed  upon  her.  Passionate  relations  always  seemed 
to  her  sensitive  perceptions  hallowed  by  the  ensuing  sleep 
in  the  loved  one's  arms,  by  that  mysterious  setting  free  of 
the  souls  to  wander  forth  together  in  those  dark  realms 
that  are  the  mirror  of  death.  Without  that  warm  com- 
panionship of  consecrating  sleep,  passion  seemed  on  a  dif- 
ferent and  lower  plane.  Moreover,  for  the  first  time,  she 
had  given  herself,  not  because  she  wished  it,  but  because 
the  man  to  whom  she  belonged  demanded  it.  She  had 
yielded  from  a  sense  of  obligation  and  that  was  humiliating. 
Crowding  on  this  came  the  sense  of  infidelity  to  Blakney, 
whom  she  had  declared  she  loved.  "I  can't  help  it,"  she 
reflected,  slipping  down  in  the  luxurious  bed,  and  feeling 
fatigue  draw  its  soft  veil  over  all  the  sharp-cut  thoughts. 


332  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

"I  owe  nothing  to  Blakney  yet.  He  has  done  nothing 
except  covet  me  as  one  covets  a  peach  to  eat,  and 
besides,  even  now,  perhaps,  he  is  himself  with  another 
woman." 

With  a  sudden  great  weariness  of  Life's  whole  dusty 
shop  she  closed  her  eyes  and  drifted  into  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

FOR  the  first  few  days  of  her  life  in  London  Lydia  enjoyed 
herself,  fascinated  by  all  the  new  sights  and  sounds  round 
her,  by  the  dazzle  of  all  the  new  toys  in  this  fresh  department 
of  the  great  shop.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  season  and 
the  air  was  clear  and  sunny,  full  of  the  freshness  of  May; 
streets,  parks,  houses,  people,  all  wore  their  brightest 
aspect. 

The  opera  was  going  on  and  Pelham  took  her  to  it  on  a 
night  when  Melba  was  singing  in  Faust.  Spellbound  and 
enraptured  Lydia  sat  motionless,  almost  rigid,  while  the 
voice  of  that  most  exquisite  singer  transported  her  mind 
into  new  worlds  of  sensation,  of  the  existence  of  which  she 
had  never  dreamed.  It  was  not  only  the  faultless  and 
lovely  voice  that  captivated  her,  but  the  singer's  beauty  of 
face  and  form  that  enthralled  her.  Lydia  had  always  felt 
passionate  admiration  for  harmony  of  line,  and  at  the  first 
moment  that  Melba  came  upon  the  stage  an  unbounded 
delight  filled  her.  All  beauty,  every  possible  grace  that 
she  could  ever  have  imagined,  seemed  centred  in  the  ex- 
quisite vision  the  great  singer  presented.  The  spirit  of 
poetry  was  in  every  line  and  movement.  Towards  the  end 
of  the  opera  it  seemed  to  Lydia  as  if  her  very  life  was  ebb- 
ing from  her,  borne  away  on  a  passion  of  delight  of  the 
senses  as  she  listened  to  that  wonderful  song  of  Marguerite 
renouncing  all  earthly  ties  and  love,  and  dedicating  herself 
to  heaven.  The  divine  voice,  circling  ever  higher  and  higher, 
so  absolutely  perfect,  both  in  strength  and  melody,  so  su- 
perbly superior  to  the  music  of  the  orchestra,  now  playing 
with  stormy  energy,  seemed  like  the  upward  flight  of  some 

333 


334  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

pure  enraptured  spirit,  vanquishing  everything  of  earth, 
winging  its  way  to  immortal  light. 

Lydia  could  not  shake  off  the  influence,  and  afterwards, 
at  supper,  could  talk  of  nothing  else  but  the  wonderful  voice 
and  the  beauty  of  the  singer. 

To  her  great  pleasure  Pelham  entered  completely  into 
her  feelings,  and  talked,  interestedly  and  well,  about  music. 
He  was  as  sensitive  to  its  influence  as  she  was,  and  her  en- 
thusiasm seemed  natural  enough  to  him.  She  had  never 
realised  before  how  near  they  were  together,  mentally,  and, 
as  in  the  forest  camps,  she  saw  that  here  was  the  compan- 
ionship she  had  so  much  missed,  and  longed  for,  with  Ber- 
nard. When  her  mind ,  as  it  were,  expanded  towards  Pelham, 
as  a  plant  to  the  light,  it  was  not  checked  and  pushed  back, 
but  drawn  further  forward.  It  did  not  find  itself  against 
a  stone  wall,  but  warmed  in  the  sun  of  his  responsiveness. 
She  had  never  felt  this  more  than  on  that  wonderful  night 
of  her  first  opera,  when  they  talked  of  the  music  together 
afterwards,  and  her  last  waking  thought  was,  would  Ivan 
understand  all  she  had  felt  so  well  ? 

She  asked  Pelham  to  take  her  again  several  nights  in 
succession,  and  he  did  so:  she  had  only  to  ask  now  for  him 
to  delightedly  comply  with  her  lightest  wish.  Hardly  any- 
thing then,  at  that  time,  would  have  been  too  extravagant 
a  request  for  him  to  grant  her.  But,  true  to  her  nature, 
she  asked  for  very  little.  A  worldly  woman  would  have 
seen  her  opportunity  and  seized  it  to  secure  her  future. 
But  Lydia,  in  this  new  state  of  things,  with  her  wish  to 
leave  Pelham  always  before  her,  shrank  from  seeing  him 
spend  money  on  her,  and  would  not  accept  fresh  benefits 
and  favours.  She  kept  carefully  within  the  weekly  allow' 
ance  he  made  her,  and  when  he  pressed  jewellery  and  dress 
upon  her  evaded  and  refused  his  suggestions.  She  spent  a 
great  part  of  her  time  reading — there  was  no  let  or  hindrance 
to  it  now — and  in  the  pages  of  her  books  she  escaped,  for 
a  time,  from  the  perplexing  problem  of  her  own  life.  She 
would  often  visit  Hatchard's,  close  to  her  in  Piccadilly, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  335 

that  very  palace  of  enchantment  to  the  book  lover,  and 
enjoyed  those  half  hours  she  spent  in  its  cool  recesses,  turn- 
ing over  new,  uncut  leaves,  gazing  upon  the  countless  shining 
piles  round  her,  buying,  here  and  there,  any  volume  she 
fancied. 

Pelham  dined  with  her  every  night  at  her  place.  She 
never  asked  him  and  that  was  why  he  always  came.  At 
the  same  time,  as  he  was  paying  for  everything  she  felt  she 
could  not  refuse.  When  he  was  there  she  was  never  cross 
or  disagreeable,  for  it  was  not  her  nature  to  be  so.  She  was 
sweet,  kind  and  gentle  in  voice,  manner  and  look,  as  she  had 
always  been,  and  it  would  have  passed  the  ability  of  any 
outsider  to  discover  the  change  in  her  feelings  to  him.  But 
he  was  quite  conscious  of  it.  Where  before  her  passionate 
devotion  to  him  had  made  her  weak,  clinging,  dependent, 
here  she  was  strong,  brilliant,  gay,  indifferent,  and  these  are 
four  powerful  fans  to  a  man's  passion.  It  astonished  them 
both,  in  those  moments  when  it  was  brought  home  to  them, 
to  note  how  their  positions  had  changed:  she,  who  had  for- 
merly hung  on  his  words,  known  delight  in  his  smile,  ecstasy 
in  those  rare  moments  when  he  had  shown  his  love  for  her, 
now  felt  herself  only  listening  to  him  out  of  politeness,  op- 
pressed by  his  society,  repelled  by  his  passion;  and  he,  who 
had  once  fancied  himself  aggrieved  by  her  adoring  affection, 
now  clung  to  the  moments  passed  by  her  side,  cared  for  no 
hour  in  the  day  except  that  which  brought  them  together, 
and  planned  and  longed  and  hoped  and  schemed  to  recover 
that  which  he  had  thrown  away. 

His  life  now  seemed  worthless  without  her.  Nothing, 
of  all  the  many  things  his  great  resources  allowed  him  to 
choose  from,  invited  him,  pleased  him.  He  felt,  after  all, 
her  companionship  in  his  life  gave  it  something  he  could 
not  buy  elsewhere. 

His  table  was  crowded  with  invitations  but  he  would  not 
accept  them.  He  was  sought  after,  courted,  flattered  by 
his  friends,  partly  for  himself,  partly  for  his  position  and 
what  he  could  do  for  them  in  return,  but  he  now  only  thought 


336  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

about,  only  cared,  for  the  one  disinterested  soul  he  had  met 
in  his  life,  possessed  and  lost. 

Among  his  invitations  at  that  time  came  one  from  an 
old  friend,  asking  him  to  stay  a  week  at  his  place  in  the 
country,  near  London.  Pelham  was  about  to  refuse,  as 
usual,  when  he  paused  with  the  pen  in  his  hand.  The 
daughter  of  the  house  was  a  very  beautiful  girl,  recently 
come  out — her  portrait  had  been  in  a  Society  paper  only 
a  week  or  two  back.  Pelham  got  up,  looked  for  the  paper 
amongst  his  others,  found  it,  and,  with  the  portrait  before 
him,  wrote  a  note  accepting  the  invitation.  It  occurred 
to  him  if  he  left  Lydia  for  a  week,  with  a  little  jealousy 
added  to  her  loneliness,  it  might  help  him  more  than  his 
presence  beside  her.  For  a  long  time  after  writing  he  sat 
gazing  before  him  into  space,  and  thinking.  It  seemed 
so  extraordinary,  to  himself,  that  he  should  feel  so  tied  to, 
and  bound  up  in,  this  one  woman  now.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
he  had  been  exaggerating  to  himself  his  own  feelings  and 
her  importance  ,to  him.  Why  not  try,  during  this  week 
away  from  her,  to  free  himself,  to  look  out  upon  his  life 
without  her,  take  it  up  and  enjoy  it  as  he  always  had  done, 
for  himself  alone,  without  regard  or  consideration  for  others  ? 
Inconstancy  and  selfishness  had  been  the  rule  of  his  life, 
and  he  had  lived  very  comfortably  by  it.  Now,  it  seemed 
to  him,  through  contact  with  this  woman  he  was  getting 
good,  unselfish,  to  think  of  someone  else,  getting  faithful 
and  attached  to  one,  all  of  which  would  probably  be  very 
stupid  and  uninteresting  and  inconvenient. 

After  dinner  that  night  he  showed  Lydia  the  paper  he 
had  brought  with  him,  containing  the  portrait,  and  told  her 
of  his  accepted  invitation. 

Lydia  looked  up  with  a  charming  pleased  smile  that  cut 
him  like  a  knife. 

"Yes?  Oh,  do  go,  I  am  so  glad.  You  will  quite  enjoy 
it.  What  a  lovely  girl!  Is  she  dark  or  fair?" 

"Dark,"  returned  Pelham,  sulkily.  This  was  not  what 
he  wanted.  It  did  not  seem  like  incipient  jealousy.  He 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  337 

waited  to  hear  her  say  she  would  miss  him,  to  urge  him  to 
write,  to  return  soon,  but  she  did  not  say  anything  of  the 
sort.  She  was  genuinely  relieved  and  pleased  to  think  he 
was  going,  his  presence  now  being  merely  a  strain  upon  her 
and  nothing  else,  and  though  she  felt  no  interest  any  longer 
in  what  he  did  or  where  he  went,  it  had  been  her  habit  for 
so  long  to  affect  interest  in  all  he  wished  to  do,  to  throw 
herself  into  things  he  liked,  for  his  sake,  that  she  did  so  now 
without  effort,  from  long  habit,  and  talked  brightly  of  his 
visit. 

"I  am  so  glad  they  have  such  a  lovely  place,"  she  re- 
sponded to  his  answer  to  her  query,  "and  two  daughters 
you  say  ?  Oh,  Eustace,  how  you  will  flirt  with  those  two 
girls!  Both  of  them,  no  doubt,  are  dying  to  marry  you!" 

"I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  marry  anybody,"  returned 
Eustace,  gloomily.  "You  may  want  to.  You  are  young 
and  have  your  life  before  you.  It  is  different  with  me:  I 
am  quite  content  if  I  keep  you  with  me." 

Lydia  was  silent.  She  did  not  want  to  begin  discussing 
herself,  her  own  views  or  plans.  If  only  he  would  choose 
one  of  these  girls  and  marry  her!  That  would  solve  her 
own  difficulty.  She  could  leave  him,  knowing  he  was  happy, 
that  he  no  longer  wanted  her,  and  she  could  follow  out  the 
path  she  wished.  She  could  marry  Blakney  with  a  light 
heart  and  clear  conscience. 

"You  will  miss  the  opera,"  said  Pelham,  after  a  moment. 
"I  am  afraid  you  will  be  dull." 

"Yes,  I  shall  miss  it.  There  is  nothing  I  enjoy  so  much, 
but  I  must  get  accustomed  to  doing  without  it." 

The  words  fell  like  a  chill  on  her  companion.  He  guessed 
she  was  thinking  of  her  future  as  linked  to  Blakney  and  his 
poverty. 

"We  will  go  every  night  when  I  come  back,"  he  said, 
forcing  a  smile. 

On  the  following  Friday  Pelham,  after  an  affectionate 
farewell  to  Lydia,  went  down  to  Milton  Court,  and  was 
warmly  received  by  papa  and  mamma,  and  the  two  beautiful 
22 


338  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

daughters,  the  Lady  Ann  and  the  Lady  Jane  (since  the 
aristocrats  apparently  delight  to  share  the  names  of  the 
kitchen).  An  exceedingly  handsome  individual,  well  born, 
and  with  a  large  rent-roll,  could  hardly  fail  to  be  welcome  in 
such  a  centre.  He  was  rather  surprised  to  find  himself  the 
only  guest  staying  in  the  house. 

After  dinner  the  Lady  Ann  played  and  sang  for  him, 
alone  in  the  exquisite  blue  drawing-room  that  showed  off 
her  red  chestnut  hair,  and  later  the  lovely  Lady  Jane  glided 
beside  him,  down  the  picture-gallery,  to  display  her  own 
water-colour  sketches  at  the  far  end  of  it.  Both  girls  were 
beautiful,  most  wonderfully  clad  in  shimmering  silk,  yet 
not  too  much  clad,  their  hair,  treated  with  hot  tongs  before- 
hand, waved  in  crisp  cut  ripples,  half  a  foot  high,  above 
their  classic  brows;  they  hung  upon  his  lips  with  devotion, 
and  their  gentle,  well-bred  voices  cooed  in  his  ears.  Pelham 
did  not  pass  an  insupportable  evening  on  the  whole,  but 
that  night,  when  he  was  finally  in  bed  in  his  magnificent 
state  chamber,  which  he  was  supposed  to  share  with  the 
ghost  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  who  had  once  slept  there,  it  was 
not  of  their  tonged  tresses  nor  lofty  forms  that  he  dreamt, 
but  of  a  rosy  face  and  velvet  eyes  full  of  sweetness:  a  dear 
little  mouth  that  had  always  smiled  upon  him,  and  dark 
hair  that  had  rippled,  even  in  a  snow  fog. 

The  following  day  there  were  many  guests  in  the  house, 
coming  and  going  to  luncheon,  tea  and  dinner,  but  Pelham 
was  never  neglected.  Either  Ann  or  Jane  was  always  at 
his  side,  floating,  hovering,  cooing,  surrounding  him  with 
attentions.  He  longed,  however,  for  post  time,  and  felt 
the  only  real  joy  of  the  day  when  he  received  a  letter  from 
Lydia.  A  bright,  frank  little  note,  just  the  one  to  add  oil 
to  his  flame  at  that  moment.  There  was  no  word  of  missing 
him,  of  his  return,  just  a  few  wishes  that  he  was  enjoying 
himself,  affectionately  worded.  He  tried  to  stay  his  full 
week,  but  he  grew  more  and  more  anxious  to  return  each  day, 
and  at  last,  on  the  sixth  afternoon  of  his  visit,  he  made  an 
excuse  and  caught  the  express  up  to  town.  Sitting  in  the 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  339 

train,  reviewing  the  time  spent  away  from  her,  he  recog- 
nised more  fully  the  fact  that  she  was  indispensable,  irre- 
placeable, different  from  other  women,  and  nothing  in  this 
world  could  repay  him  for  giving  her  up.  Comparing  her 
with  the  girls  he  had  just  left  he  tried  to  grasp  what  the 
difference  was:  there  seemed  so  much  more  character  in 
her,  more  depth  and  breadth,  infinitely  more  vitality,  more 
intensity,  more  capability.  She  was  a  real,  vivid,  living 
thing,  full,  as  it  were,  of  light  and  fire.  These  girls  seemed 
like  animated  dolls,  capable  of  dressing  well  and  crimping 
their  hair,  but  of  little  else.  They  seemed  to  have  only  a 
few  phrases  to  say,  a  few  small  thoughts  to  think,  a  few 
microscopic  feelings  to  feel.  Would  they  ever,  could  they, 
develop  ?  He  thought  not.  After  marriage  they  would 
be  just  the  same,  dressing  well  and  crimping  their  hair, 
thinking  their  little  thoughts,  feeling  their  little  feelings. 
The  more  he  thought  of  Lydia  the  more  strongly  he  felt 
how  great  the  difference  was  between  her  and  them,  but 
it  maddened  him  to  know  he  could  not  define  the  difference 
plainly  to  himself. 

Were  there  any  great  passions,  anything  great  at  all,  in 
the  average  woman?  He  had  known  so  many  and  he 
thought  not.  He  had  found  them  mostly  self-seeking,  trivial, 
foolish,  selfish,  childish.  But  this  one  stood  out  separate 
from  them  all.  How  great  had  been  her  love  and  passion 
for  himself,  and  how  entirely  free  from  the  seeking  of  gift 
or  payment  or  advantage!  How  unselfishly  she  had  nursed 
him,  dimming  her  beauty,  breaking  down  her  health!  How 
far  above  all  childish  trivial  things  she  seemed;  the  little 
vexations  that  make  up  so  much  of  the  ordinary  woman's 
life  had  no  power  over  her;  in  all  the  time  they  had  been 
together  he  had  never  heard  a  silly  or  petulant  remark  from 
her  lips.  And  in  this  last  passion  for  this  Russian  how 
great  her  self-control  had  been!  Yes,  he  thought,  musing, 
she  has  the  great  qualities:  there  is  nothing  of  the  small, 
the  mean,  or  the  petty  in  her.  In  two  years  passed  with 
most  women  he  would  have  found  them  out  in  innumerable 


340  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

little  falsehoods.  There  was  not  one  to  her  account.  In 
fact  fear,  the  father  of  lies,  he  believed,  was  entirely  absent 
from  her  nature, 

Thinking  of  her  thus  an  unutterable  longing  filled  him 
to  be  with  her  again,  and  he  drove  straight  to  her  rooms 
from  the  station.  She  was  not  at  home  the  maid  told  him, 
but  would  he  wait,  she  would  be  back  to  tea.  Pelham  went 
into  the  drawing-room  and  walked  impatiently  about. 
The  place  was  full  of  sun,  it  poured  through  all  the  windows, 
and,  falling  across  one  of  the  tables,  lighted  up  brilliantly 
a  photograph  on  it.  It  was  not  framed  but  just  set  up 
against  an  inkstand.  In  his  angry  prowls  round  the  room 
Pelham  came  face  to  face  with  it  and  stopped.  It  was  one 
of  Ivan  Blakney,  showing  to  great  advantage  the  brilliant, 
perfect  beauty  of  the  head  and  profile. 

Pelham  picked  it  up,  and  red  seas  of  jealousy  seemed 
to  go  over  him  and  swirl  about  him.  What  if  he  had  really 
lost  her,  and  this  man  were  to  be  master  of  all  her  beauty 
and  that  great  soul  he  had  been  pondering  on  just  now? 
Then  he  checked  his  own  idea.  No  man  would  ever  be  a 
master  or  owner  of  her.  Men  were  to  her  but  playthings, 
for  all  that  outward  obedience  she  rendered  them.  Had 
he,  with  all  her  extravagant  passion  for  him,  ever  inspired 
her  with  fear,  or  compelled  her  thoughts  or  inner  soul? 
And  neither  would  another.  That  was  her  charm,  therein, 
perhaps,  lay  her  greatness.  It  broke  upon  him  suddenly. 
She  was  unconquerable,  an  empire  none  could  absolutely  win. 
He  sank  into  a  chair,  the  portrait  still  in  his  hand,  gazing  at 
the  wonderful  type,  the  statuesque  beauty  of  the  features, 
and  in  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Lydia  came  in. 

Pelham  sprang  up  and  went  to  greet  her.  He  bent  over 
her  and  kissed  her  with  all  the  gathered  passion  of  the  last 
hours.  He  saw  there  was  no  smile  of  pleasure  on  her  face, 
only  a  sharp  contraction  of  her  eyebrows,  but  her  voice  was 
gentle,  as  usual,  as  she  said, — 

"You  have  come  back,  Eustace  ?  When  did  you  arrive  ? 
I  am  sorry  I  was  out." 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  341 

"I  could  not  stay  any  longer  away  from  you,"  he  said 
gently,  with  a  wonderful  accent  of  tenderness  in  his  flexible 
voice,  that  had  always  great  power  over  her,  "and  I  came 
up  early  that  we  might  have  a  jolly  evening  at  the  opera." 
He  waited  for  a  look  of  pleasure  to  come  to  her  face,  but 
there  was  none.  She  gazed  out  of  the  window  with  grave 
eyes. 

"  Had  you  anything  else  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  as  she  remained 
silent. 

"Yes.  I  met  one  of  our  American  friends,  Mr  Downing 
— do  you  remember  him  ? — in  the  park  to-day,  and  he  asked 
me  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  him.  I  said  I  would,  not  think- 
ing you  would  be  back  to-night,  but  I  can  send  him  a  wire." 

"Oh,  well — which  would  you  rather  do?  Don't  let  me 
interfere  with  your  arrangements,  if  you  would  rather  go  to 
the  theatre  with  him." 

"I  would  rather  go  to. the  opera  with  you,  now  you  have 
come  back,"  she  answered  quietly,  and  turned  to  find  the 
telegraph  forms  on  her  desk. 

Pelham  had  thrown  himself  into  an  armchair  and  sat 
watching  her.  He  felt  that  she  had  no  enthusiasm  behind 
her  last  speech.  That  she  only  made  it  because  politeness 
dictated  it,  because,  to  her  well-bred  ideas,  it  was  impossible 
to  tell  a  person,  to  his  face,  you  did  not  in  the  least  desire 
his  company.  And,  torn  by  bitter  pangs,  Pelham  con- 
trasted this  attitude  towards  him  now  with  the  fervent,  ardent 
enthusiasm  of  the  past.  The  form,  the  outward  semblance 
of  their  relations,  still  remained.  Would  he  ever  be  able  to 
re-kindle  that  glorious  passion  of  the  spirit  which  had  once 
filled  them? 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THREE  months  had  slipped  by.  All  that  time  Pelham  had 
lived  at  her  place  as  nearly  entirely  as  she  would  allow  him, 
and  persuaded  her  to  be  with  him  as  often  as  she  would 
come.  He  had  given  her  more  presents  in  that  twelve 
weeks'  space  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  time  they  had  passed 
together,  and  daily  encompassed  her  with  acts  of  kindness 
and  attention.  He  was  keenly  absorbed  in  the  pursuit  now 
of  what  he  had  had  and  lost,  and  the  joy  of  success  and  the 
fear  of  failure  equalled  that  of  their  first  days  of  tent  life. 
Nor  was  it  only  that.  An  influence,  the  greatest  influence 
in  the  world,  the  influence  of  love  was  upon  him,  remoulding, 
subtly  and  gently  and  gradually,  his  whole  mental  person- 
ality. As  any  given  drug  will  act  like  a  charm  on  an  individual 
that  has  never  tried  it  before,  on  a  constitution  absolutely 
fresh  to  it,  so  this  influence  came  upon  him  with  redoubled 
force  because  it  had  never  swayed  him  hitherto.  Passion, 
in  every  conceivable  form,  he  had  experienced,  but  his  mind 
and  soul  had  slept  through  it  all,  and  consequently  each 
object  of  his  passion  had  been  said  good-bye  to  without 
pain  or  regret.  Before  he  had  loved  qualities,  those  physical 
qualities  which  Nature  reproduces  by  the  thousand,  blue 
eyes  and  golden  hair,  bright  cheeks,  white  arms,  that  if  lost 
in  one  can  be  found  again  in  another;  but  now  mind  and  soul 
were  fully  awake,  he  knew  now  that  he  loved,  and  in  Lydia 
he  loved  a  mental  personality,  and  Nature  is  not  prodigal 
in  her  duplicates  of  the  mind  as  she  is  of  the  body.  When 
Lydia  was  absent  he  felt  a  strange  sense  of  loss,  that  some- 
thing vitally  necessary  to  him  had  been  taken  away,  and  no 
society  of  other  women  could  replace  it  for  him.  He  was 

342 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  343 

getting  more  and  more  convinced  that  she  was  irreplaceable 
to  him,  and  gradually  there  came  to  be  two  groups  in  his 
mind  when  he  thought  of  these  things:  all  the  women  he 
had  ever  known  stood  on  one  side,  and  Lydia  alone  on  the 
other.  He  had  given  to  others  as  much  as  they  had  given  to 
him,  varying  forms  of  selfish  passion.  But  Lydia,  for  the 
time  she  had  loved  him,  he  knew,  had  given  the  most  devoted 
love,  the  affection  that  would  have  hesitated  at  no  self- 
sacrifice.  And  in  those  two  years  when  she  fancied  all  her 
striving  had  been  in  vain,  her  gentleness,  her  sweetness,  her 
unselfish  devotion  to  him  had  been  influencing  him,  pene- 
trating to  his  heart,  atrophied  from  long  disuse,  developing 
in  it  its  power  to  love,  as  the  soft  summer  rain,  falling  in  its 
persistent  showers,  penetrates  a  rocky  soil,  developing  the 
hidden  seeds  of  flowers  and  bringing  them  forth  to  the  light. 
She  had  taught  him  what  love  can  be,  and  what  the  com- 
panionship means  of  one  who  really  loves.  Now  that  he 
had  once  learnt  this,  it  seemed  impossible  to  live  again  without 
it,  without  that  subtle,  all-pervading  influence  of  another's 
love,  in  and  round  and  through  all  one's  life,  and  if  she  with- 
drew from  him  to  whom  could  he  look  for  it  ?  He  had 
never  known  it  except  through  her,  and  therefore  she  and 
love  seemed  to  him  one.  He  had  taken  her  down  to  his 
country  place  one  day,  and  they  had  sat  in  the  park  under 
his  century-old  oaks,  talking  of  many  things.  They  had 
lunched  together  in  the  fine  dining-room,  and  the  house- 
keeper had  gazed  admiringly  on  the  pretty  young  lady  that 
she  made  sure  was  to  be  her  future  mistress. 

Lydia,  herself,  walked  through  the  magnificent  suites 
of  rooms,  and  gazed  upon  all  he  showed  her,  with  a  curious 
sense  of  detachment,  of  which  Pelham  was  half  unconsciously 
aware.  She  admired  everything,  but  her  admiration  was 
impersonal:  there  was  no  touch  of  covetousness,  of  longing 
to  possess  what  she  saw.  Her  attitude,  absolutely  natural 
and  unaffected,  one  that  she  simply  could  not  help,  brought 
home  to  Pelham,  very  keenly,  that  quality  of  hers  of  putting 
emotions  far  above  material  things.  He  knew  how  once  she 


344  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

had  coveteil  his  love.  That  indeed  had  been  priceless  to 
her.  But  for  these  other  things  that  he  could  give  he  saw 
that  she  cared  nothing.  The  picture-gallery  seemed  to 
please  her  most  of  all  inside  the  house,  and  Pelham,  who 
was  himself  extremely  fond  of  all  art,  delighted  in  the  way 
she  lingered  before  the  best  pictures,  the  enthusiasm  and 
keen  judgment  she  displayed.  He  had  often  been  annoyed 
in  this  gallery  by  the  silly  remarks  of  some  of  the  women 
that  had  visited  it  with  him,  or  else  by  their  indifference  and 
the  eager  relief  with  which  they  left  it.  But  he  saw  she  was 
an  artist,  with  the  artist's  eye  and  brain,  and  she  said  nothing 
which  jarred  upon  him,  nor  did  she  wish  to  leave  the  pictures. 
They  lingered  together  there,  full  of  mutual  enjoyment, 
unconscious  of  the  time,  till  a  gong  sounding  brought  memory 
of  it  back. 

They  went  out  for  their  tea,  which  was  served  on  a  low 
stone  terrace,  on  the  south  side  of  the  house,  shaded  by  trees 
and  overlooking  the  rose  garden.  He  watched  her  with 
pleasure  as  she  sat,  pouring  out  his  tea  from  the  massive  old 
silver  teapot,  her  pale  green  summer  silk  gown  making  a 
soft  harmony  with  the  grey  stone  of  the  terrace. 

"Which  of  all  the  pictures  did  you  like  best?"  he  asked. 

"The  one  of  Zeus  appearing  to  Semele,"  she  answered, 
without  hesitation,  "but  then  I  like  the  idea  of  that  so  much 
— that  she  was  willing  to  give  up  her  life  if  she  might  only 
see  him  once  in  his  immortal  beauty,  as  a  god.  Who  would 
not  be  willing  to  die  for  such  a  moment  ?" 

Pelham  laughed.  It  was  a  very  characteristic  answer,  he 
thought.  He  took  her  back  to  town  in  the  best  of  humours 
with  her,  and  to  the  theatre  and  supper  after.  Driving  home 
alone  to  his  place  he  realised  what  a  charm  there  had  been 
in  the  companionship  of  the  day. 

He  thought  now  of  little  else  but  her,  and  his  friends  in 
town  and  country  looked  for  him  to  no  purpose,  while  the 
Lady  Ann  wrote  constantly  in  an  affectionate  strain,  but 
wrote  in  vain.  His  efforts  with  Lydia  had  availed  Him 
this  much — that  the  image  of  the  Russian  was  less  clear 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  345 

before  her,  the  longing  for  his  presence  less  keen,  and  in  her 
gentle  heart  were  growing  up  fresh  feelings  of  affection  and 
gratitude  towards  Pelham.  Reading  character,  and  the 
mental  life  of  people,  their  motives  and  most  secret  springs 
of  action,  which  she  did  easily,  as  most  men  read  a  written 
page,  she  was  conscious  of  the  efforts  Pelham  was  making, 
and  of  the  real  greatness  of  a  nature  that  could,  at  its  own 
command,  rise  to  so  fine  a  height,  and  win  victory  over 
itself,  its  own  selfishness  and  habitual  faults.  Most  of  his 
impulses  were  selfish,  many  were  cruel,  his  temper  was 
impatient  and  unjust,  yet  all  these,  to  which  he  had  given 
free  rein  through  those  bitter  two  years,  which  had  anni- 
hilated her  passion,  were  now  completely  held  in  check, 
suppressed,  restrained.  To  achieve  such  a  conquest  over 
oneself  without  long  previous  training  is  a  feat  only  a  great 
character  could  accomplish.  Sometimes  the  old  manner, 
the  old  disposition  would  show  itself  suddenly,  unexpectedly, 
but  only  for  an  instant.  Without  even  seeming  difficulty 
he  would  check  and  control  himself,  producing,  as  it  were, 
a  mood  of  charming  amiability,  as  a  conjuror  does  a  rabbit 
from  his  sleeve.  He  would  not  allow  himself  now  to  be 
angry  with  her,  to  speak  harshly,  even  impatiently  to  her. 
Nor  did  the  tenderness  with  which  he  regarded  and  treated 
her  seem  like  a  veneer  put  on  for  a  certain  end.  It  was 
rather  the  gradual  transformation  of  a  character  attained 
by  iron  self-restraint  and  self-conquest,  and  for  this  woman, 
feeling  it  going  on  from  day  to  day,  possessed  a  fascination 
of  its  own.  During  these  months  many  letters  had  reached 
her  from  Ivan,  all  in  the  same  strain,  telling  of  his  wretched- 
ness, his  longing  for  her,  his  hopelessness,  his  conviction 
that  her  plan  was  a  useless  one,  that  Pelham  would  never 
tire  of  her,  that  they  could  never  hope  to  be  together,  pressing 
her  for  a  decision,  begging  her  to  take  her  life  in  her  own 
hands  and  do  with  it  what  she  wanted,  without  consideration 
for  others. 

Such  a  letter  had  come  in  one  morning  in  the  late  autumn, 
a  hot,  still  day,  when  the  air  hung  languid  and  heavy  in  the 


346  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

deserted  streets.  They  had  stayed  in  town  all  the  summer, 
since  Lydia  had  shrunk  unconquerably  from  going  away 
with  Pelham,  and  so  recommencing  the  old  life,  and  seeming 
to  ratify  her  temporary  decision  to  remain  with  him.  She 
had  stayed  on  in  London,  and  where  she  was  there,  for 
the  present  at  least,  was  Pelham  chained. 

And  now,  suddenly,  this  morning,  broke  over  her,  like 
the  wave  of  a  flood,  a  longing  to  be  away,  away  from  Pelham, 
alone,  where  she  could  face  her  life  and  see  her  way  more 
clearly  than  here,  compassed  about  with  Pelham 's  goodness, 
his  kindness,  his  love  and  passion,  hedged  in  by  his  constant 
presence  and  appeal  to  her  sympathies,  and  at  the  same  time 
tortured  and  maddened  by  the  incessant  clamouring  letters 
from  Ivan,  calling  upon  her  to  free  herself.  As  the  letter 
in  her  hand  said  it  did  not  seem  as  if  any  change  onPelham's 
side  would  give  her  liberty.  It  she  wished  to  go,  the  hand 
that  cut  her  bonds  must  be  her  own.  And  from  this  some 
intangible  power  seemed  to  hold  her  back.  Lying  amongst 
her  pillows  this  morning,  with  Ivan's  letter  in  her  hand, 
she  wondered  if  there  were  any  unrecognised  law  that  or- 
dains we  shall  not  change  our  lives.  That  we  shall  not  be 
the  arbiters  of  our  own  Fate,  but  wait,  working  in  the  old 
groove,  till  Destiny  itself  makes  the  change?  If  we  break 
the  law  are  there  not  mysterious  penalties  we  must  pay? 
It  almost  seems  so.  Over  and  over  again  Life  furnishes 
us  with  examples  of  unhappy  mortals  who  have  dared  to 
change,  and  Life  has  wrecked  them  in  the  changing. 

Lydia  lay  thinking,  but  above  all  her  thoughts  rose  this 
one  great  longing  to  be  alone,  to  be  free  from  all  influences, 
to  feel  the  calm  of  solitude,  of  independent  life  h'ved  without 
reference  to  another.  In  that  might  come  to  her  strength 
for  a  decision.  And  she  must  make  one.  The  winter  was 
approaching.  Pelham  was  urging  her  to  go  East  with  him. 
Ivan's  letters  were  growing  more  impatient,  more  insistent. 
She  felt  weak  and  ill  with  mental  strain  as  she  lay  there, 
the  warm  autumn  sunshine  streaming  over  her.  She  rose, 
dressed,  and  then  packed  her  things.  If  she  saw  Pelham 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  347 

he  would  fight  against  her  going  alone,  he  would  insist  on 
coming  with  her.  And  to  go  alone  was  imperative.  A 
week,  a  fortnight,  might  be  all  she  needed,  but  that  she  must 
have.  She  wrote  him  a  very  gentle  note,  saying  she  must 
have  solitude  for  a  little  while,  and  promising  to  write  at 
the  end  of  a  week.  Then  she  paid  all  that  was  owing  and 
had  a  cab  called.  While  her  luggage  was  being  put  up  she 
wondered  where  she  should  go.  WTien  the  cabman  asked 
her  she  said  Waterloo.  In  the  cab,  driving  to  the  station, 
she  ran  over  the  places  one  can  get  to  from  that  station,  and 
of  them  chose  Southampton.  The  thought  of  the  sea  and 
its  great  open  silent  spaces  came  to  her  softly,  bringing  a 
sense  of  comfort.  She  leaned  back  in  the  cab,  with  closed 
eyes,  wondering  what  was  the  nature  of  those  vast  secret 
powers  that  seem  to  watch  us  from  behind  the  walls  of  Life. 


CHAPTER  XXVHI 

WHEN  Lydia  installed  herself  in  the  lodgings  at  Southampton 
she  found  herself  again  under  that  strange  influence  that 
all  through  her  life  new  rooms  possessed  for  her.  It  swept 
over  her  so  strongly  that  it  almost  carried  her  self-control 
with  it,  and  a  nervous  frenzy  seized  her  for  the  moment 
to  send  a  wire  immediately  to  the  man  she  had  left,  sum- 
moning him  to  her  there.  But  she  resisted,  with  a  scornful 
smile  at  herself,  and  then,  as  the  landlady  withdrew,  threw 
herself  down  in  a  great  comfortable  wicker  chair  by  the  fire, 
musing  over  this  curious  mood  that  always  came  to  meet 
her  on  the  threshold  of  each  new  room  that  she  had  to  sleep 
in,  in  her  different  weary  travels  about  life. 

It  was  a  curious  strange  longing  for  companionship 
that  the  sight  of  the  new  room,  the  new  furniture,  the  new 
view  even  from  the  new  window,  gave  her.  Hundreds  of 
nights  she  slept  in  some  room  she  was  accustomed  to,  and 
it  never  came  near  her.  Solitude,  as  solitude,  had  no  special 
obnoxiousness  to  her:  but  to  be  alone  in  a  new  room,  to 
enter  the  new  room  alone,  to  know  she  was  to  sleep  alone  in 
it,  brought  this  strange  feeling  sweeping  over  her,  akin 
perhaps  to  that  of  nostalgia,  that  they  say  comes  sometimes 
over  human  beings,  borne  to  them  by  a  particular  fragrance, 
sound  or  sight:  there  seemed  a  spirit  in  the  empty  room 
that  stood  calling  for  another  to  enter  with  her.  She  never 
felt  desolate,  never  hardly  hungry  for  another's  look,  and 
voice,  and  presence,  except  when  she  stocd  in  a  new  room. 
It  was  an  extraordinarily  strong  feeling,  and  she  often  won- 
dered whether  other  women  felt  it  also.  It  depended  in  no 
way  on  the  room;  whether  it  was  large  or  small,  well  or  ill 

348 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  34» 

furnished,  comfortable  or  uncomfortable,  it  always  brought 
that  strange,  sharp  longing  with  it,  and,  in  her  former  life 
with  either  her  husband  or  Pelham,  the  longing  was  turned 
to  an  equally  strange  access  of  delight.  So  well  did  she 
recognise  it  that  if  Pelham  ever  reproached  her  with  seeming: 
wearied  coldness  she  would  Jaugh  and  say,  "Take  me  to. 
a  new  room,  Eustace;"  and  once  they  had  actually  left 
their  rooms  in  the  town  where  they  were  staying  and  passed 
the  night  at  an  hotel,  that  she  might  have  the  pleasure  of 
this  novelty.  She  sat  thinking  of  this  for  some  time,  by  the 
blazing  fire,  looking  round  the  eminently  comfortable  room,, 
with  its  capacious  bed,  its  two  windows  with  the  duchesse 
table  between,  its  thick  carpet,  its  couch  at  the  foot  of  the: 
bed,  its  many  deep,  roomy  chairs  and  silver  fox  hearthrug; 
by  the  fire,  then,  with  a  long,  deep  sigh,  she  rose  and  began  to» 
undress. 

The  next  morning  she  got  up  about  eight — late  for  h«r — 
had  a  hot  bath,  dressed,  took  a  long,  quiet  breakfast  with 
the  sun  streaming  across  the  breakfast-table,  and  then  went 
out  for  a  row  on  Southampton  water.  It  was  one  of  those 
mild  damp  days  so  usual  in  the  early  part  of  the  English 
winter.  She  sky  was  lightly  overcast,  but  every  now  and 
then  the  sun  poured  a  sudden  splash  of  bright  light  on  the 
dull,  smooth,  gently-heaving  surface  of  the  water.  She 
had  a  long,  light  boat  and  an  excellent  pair  of  sculls,  and 
went  shooting  over  the  water  in  keen  delight.  So  long  as 
the  body  is  healthy  and  the  fires  of  youth  are  still  burning 
in  it,  there  are  some  pleasures  that  no  circumstances,  no 
enemies  can  destroy  for  us,  and  the  pleasure  of  unrestrained, 
rollicking,  physical  exercise  is  one  of  these.  Lydia  visited 
the  yachts  lying  at  anchor,  took  a  perfect  race  round  the 
harbour  proper,  and  came  back  to  luncheon  flushed,  smiling, 
lovely,  feeling  the  full  intoxication  of  animal  life  in  her  veins. 
The  afternoon  grew  cloudier  than  the  morning,  so  she  gave 
no  thought  to  going  out  again,  but  piled  up  the  fire  and 
threw  open  the  piano:  now  she  would  play,  have  a  glorious 
practice  till  five,  with  no  one  to  interrupt  her,  and  no  fear  of 


350  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

disturbing  anyone.  She  played,  throwing  herself  into  the 
arms  of  another  great  wonderful  pleasure  that  is  mercifully 
independent  of  others'  aid.  Dusk  came  before  she  had 
exhausted  her  desire,  and  she  got  up  to  ring  for  lights  and  tea, 
filled  full  of  the  excited  delight  of  her  playing.  As,  thrown 
back  in  a  very  comfortable  armchair,  she  sipped  her  tea, 
and  felt  the  glow  of  the  fire  on  her  feet,  she  fell  into  a  surprised 
reverie  at  herself.  How  little  she  had  missed,  really  wanted, 
Pelham  all  to-day.  Here  was  a  day  nearly  completely  spent 
without  him,  and  she  had  really  been  enjoying  it.  While 
with  him  she  had  always  shrunk  so  from  the  idea  of  parting 
with  him,  fearing  lest  that  awful  hunger  for  his  presence, 
that  curious,  ungovernable  longing  she  had  once  known, 
should  envelop  her  again.  But  here  was  a  whole  day  in 
which  she  had  been  happy,  content,  yes,  relieved,  that  he 
was  not  there. 

Several  days  passed  and  Lydia  realised  fully  how  little 
she  really  needed  Pelham.  The  affection,  natural  to  her 
soft  heart  and  nature,  remained  alive:  she  hoped  he  was 
well,  content  and  happy:  had  she  heard  he  was  ill,  alone, 
needing  her,  she  would  have  flown  to  him  at  all  sacrifices, 
and  nursed  him  anxiously,  untiringly.  These  were  the 
affairs  of  affection,  but  the  passion,  that  curious  spell  that 
seems  to  make  the  presence,  the  contiguity  of  the  object, 
almost  a  necessity  to  the  life  of  the  lover,  and  that  also  makes 
every  cross,  every  wound  borne  with  ease,  or  even  unfelt, 
this  apparently  was  dead.  Passion  is  eminently  selfish: 
that  is,  perhaps,  its  most  reprehensible  part.  It  desires  the 
object  for  its  own  gratification,  its  own  necessities,  and 
Lydia,  well  versed  in  such  matters,  knew  now,  looking  into 
her  own  state  of  mind,  that  the  absence  of  selfishness  in  her 
feeling  towards  Pelham  meant  the  absence  of  passion.  She 
was  still  so  anxious  for  his  welfare,  anxious  for  him  to  be 
happy,  but  she  herself,  now,  she  was  happy  without  him. 
Formerly  she  had  longed  to  have  him  with  her,  and  would 
have  bought  his  presence  at  any  cost  to  herself,  or,  far  more 
significant,  at  any  cost  to  himself.  That  is  the  first  instinct 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  351 

of  passion.  Now  she  was  still  ready  to  sacrifice  herself  for 
him,  and  loved  him  too  much  to  let  him  sacrifice  himself 
for  her.  Her  affection  had,  morally,  certainly  improved 
her  feeling  for  him,  but  it  had  improved  the  passion  out  of  it. 

All  the  time  she  was  dressing  in  the  morning,  before  her 
glass,  she  pondered  over  these  things  within  herself,  wonder- 
ing at  the  mystery  of  Life. 

But  wonder  and  ponder  over  it  as  she  might  there  the 
fact  remained.  She  was  content  without  Pelham.  She 
was  free.  And  as  she  slowly  grasped  this  more  and  more 
and  realised  it  a  great  gladness  took  possession  of  her.  Her 
relation  with  Pelham  had  always  had  something  of  humilia- 
tion in  it.  That  stress  of  passion  that  at  one  time  had  forced 
her  to  accept  all  that  he  did  and  said  against  her  had  been, 
even  at  the  time,  terrible  to  her.  The  knowledge  that  she 
could  not  assert  her  dignity  as  a  human  being,  that  she  dared 
not  resent  any  word  or  action  of  his,  simply  because  his 
presence  was  food,  water,  life  itself  to  her,  had  always  borne 
her  down  with  its  oppression.  Now  her  freedom,  with  the 
rights  of  all  ordinary  human  beings,  was  given  back  to  her. 
And  she  rejoiced  in  her  emancipation,  she  was  overjoyed 
at  the  re-possession  of  her  mental,  and  moral,  and  physical 
freedom.  Secure  in  the  idea  that  that  servitude  was  all  put 
behind  her  and  done  with,  she  looked  forward  eagerly  to 
a  new  future,  and  all  her  dreams  now  were  of  days  to  come. 
And  the  past  faded  gradually  out  of  the  pictures  in  her  mind. 
Everything  combined  to  lull  her  into  a  glad  serenity.  The 
thought  of  Pelham 's  great  wealth  and  position,  that  would 
have  caused  regret  to  so  many  women  at  such  a  juncture, 
delighted  her.  "He  can  have  everything  in  the  world  that 
he  wants,  he  cannot  fail  to  be  amused  and  happy  hi  life," 
she  thought  to  herself.  "I  shall  be  soon  replaced  and  for- 
gotten;" and  her  heart  was  not  heavy  at  that  thought,  but 
light  and  glad,  which  proved  how  far  she  had  progressed, 
morally,  away  from  passion  and  towards  pure  affection. 

So  day  by  day  she  began  to  think  with  increasing  joy 
about  Ivan.  He  became  everything  to  her.  She  thought 


352  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

with  pleasure  of  the  cramped,  struggling  life  they  would 
have  to  lead,  and  characteristically  meditated  on  how  much 
she  could  sacrifice  for  him,  in  such  an  existence,  and  the 
joy  it  would  be  to  do  it.  Her  thoughts  grew  tender  towards 
the  man  who  was  willing  to  bind  himself  to  her,  work  for 
her,  and  who  considered  any  burden  well  taken  up  for  her 
sake.  It  was  a  contrast  to  Pelham,  who  had  come  in  upon 
her  life  and  deliberately  set  himself  to  take  all  that  it  con- 
tained without  .  .  .  but  she  would  not  allow  herself  to  think 
on  those  lines.  The  past  was  over  and  done  with.  Pelham 
was  of  the  past.  In  the  books  of  the  Divine  Judge  the  account 
between  these  two  was  written  and  closed.  Her  mind  turned 
towards  Ivan  with  his  sincere,  youthful,  devoted  love  and 
sunned  itself  gratefully  there.  The  two  letters  that  came  to 
her,  after  about  a  week  of  her  life  at  Southampton,  helped 
still  farther  the  boat  of  her  wishes  along  the  flowing  tide  on 
which  it  had  embarked.  One  was  from  Ivan,  and  the  other 
from  Pelham.  She  took  up  Ivan's  letter  and  read  it  with  a 
smile.  It  was  full  of  quick,  ardent  desire  for  herself,  to  be 
with  her.  If  that  were  attained  nothing  else  mattered. 
That  was  the  burden  of  the  whole  missive.  At  the  end  was 
written,  "I  cannot  wait  any  longer.  I  am  leaving  here  this 
week.  I  must  see  you,  if  there  is  only  misery  for  me  after- 
wards." 

So,  after  ah1,  the  matter  was  being  taken  out  of  her  hands. 
She  was  not  called  upon  to  write  either  invitation  to  him 
or  dismissal.  He  was  coming  to  her.  She  did  not  feel, 
if  Pelham  continued  to  stay  away  and  Ivan  appeared,  that 
she  could  again  resist  him.  Destiny  now  seemed  holding 
one  man  back  and  urging  the  other  on.  To  her  destiny, 
she  felt,  she  must  leave  the  issue. 

Pelham 's  letter  she  took  up  next  and  read  that  also  with 
a  smile.  It  was  just  the  opposite  to  the  other,  and  exactly 
similar  to  his  general  style:  beginning  with  the  usual  cold, 
"Dear  Lydia,"  and  telling  her  some  news  of  the  various 
indifferent  things  he  had  been  doing.  There  was  no  word 
of  regret  at  her  departure,  no  suggestion  of  his  coming  down 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  353 

to  see  her.  In  fact,  had  the  letter  been  read  by  a  third  per- 
son the  impression  would  have  been  that  it  was  one  written 
to  an  acquaintance  of  a  few  weeks'  standing.  An  impression 
which  Pelham  always  wished  his  letters  to  coilvey,  and  care- 
fully studied  to  produce.  Lydia,  who  herself,  when  she  loved, 
would  have  laid  her  head  on  the  block  and  put  the  axe  into 
the  hands  of  her  lover  in  calm  trust  and  security,  laughed 
at  the  pains  Pelham  took  to  avoid  putting  even  a  compro- 
mising letter  into  her  possession.  "After  all  this  time,"  she 
thought,  "he  knows  me  so  little  that  he  writes  as  he  would 
to  a  possible  blackmailer.  Why  write  at  all  ?  What  emotion, 
advantageous  to  himself,  does  he  suppose  such  a  letter  would 
excite  in  any  woman?" 

Then  she  let  him  slip  from  her  mind  and  wondered  about 
Ivan,  and  how  soon  he  would  be  coming  to  her.  She  wanted 
him.  She  was  getting  very  tired  of  living  alone.  She  was 
much  too  unselfish,  naturally,  much  too  warm-hearted  and 
responsive  to  remain  long  content  with  the  charm  of  pleasing 
herself.  There  is  an  undoubted  charm  in  this,  but  in  natures 
like  hers,  the  charm  of  pleasing  another  is  far  greater.  While 
living  with  Pelham  she  was  almost  constantly  employed  in 
doing  what  he  wanted,  which  generally  crossed  her  own 
views  or  wishes  for  the  moment.  And  this  partially  ex- 
plained the  relief  she  felt  at  his  absence,  a  relief  which, 
naturally  enough,  he  did  not  feel  at  hers.  Her  absence  was 
all  loss  to  him,  whereas  to  her  his  absence  meant  the  sudden 
and  unusual  pleasure  of  self-gratification.  Even  to  a  nature 
like  hers  the  constant  denial  of  self,  moment  by  moment, 
becomes  at  times  a  yoke  hard  to  wear.  Just  when  she  had 
taken  a  book  she  particularly  wished  to  read,  and  had  seated 
herself  in  an  armchair  by  the  fire,  how  often  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  force  herself  to  lay  it  aside  with  a  smile  as  Pelham 
approached,  wanting  her  to  go  out  with  him.  How  usual 
it  had  been  for  her  to  be  asked  to  play  when  she  did  not  wish 
it;  how  usual  to  be  asked  not  to  when  she  did !  How  constantly 
she  wished  to  be  out  when  she  stayed  in  with  him,  to  go  to 
the  theatre  when  he  wished  to  go  to  bed!  How  often  in 
23 


354  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

maddening,  moonlight  nights,  in  strange  foreign  cities,  she 
had  stood  with  burning,  bursting  heart  at  her  window  listen- 
ing to  some  strains  of  music,  smelling  the  stealthy  scent  of 
the  orange  flowers  creeping  in,  watching  the  fireflies,  and 
imprisoned  because  he  slept  in  the  next  room!  All,  all  her 
little  wishes,  born  from  moment  to  moment  in  the  day,  she 
quietly  killed,  like  inconvenient  children  of  a  cruel  mother. 
She  had  trained  herself  to  do  this,  and  the  result  wras  that  her 
society  was  very  pleasant  to  him,  and  badly  missed,  but  to 
her  the  strain  of  all  that  killing  was  somewhat  exhausting. 
And  in  his  absence  the  charm  of  her  free  will,  the  chair  by 
the  fire,  the  unforbidden  walks,  the  uninterrupted  occupations 
worked  rather  soothingly.  But  not  for  long;  self-indulgence 
is  not  for  the  best  of  humanity.  It  cannot  satisfy.  The 
excitement  of  the  sacrifice  has,  in  all  ages,  appealed  to  men 
more  and  held  them :  only  the  sacrifice  must  yield  the  excite- 
ment. That  is  the  pay  of  the  victim.  One  afternoon, 
when  she  had  returned  from  a  long  row  on  the  silvery,  shim- 
mering Solent,  she  thought  she  looked  lovelier  than  she  had 
ever  seen  herself.  Exercise,  open  air,  early  hours  and 
pleasant,  joyous  emotions  are  the  wonderful  cosmetics,  the 
paints  and  dyes  of  Nature,  and  Lydia  looked  at  herself, 
with  a  beating  heart,  and  took  out  eagerly  her  prettiest 
dinner  dress  and  put  it  on.  She  had  a  curious  pre- 
sentiment that  Ivan  would  come  that  evening,  and  she 
flew  about  her  bedroom  singing,  adding  touch  after  touch, 
beauty  after  beauty,  of  lace  and  jewel  and  flower  to 
the  radiant  picture  in  the  glass.  When  it  was  complete 
and  she  could  do  no  more  she  leant  forward  and  looked 
into  it. 

"Ah,  Ivan,  Ivan,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  "I  can 
make  you  so  happy,  and  I  shall  be  so  happy  myself.  Do 
come  to-night." 

Then  she  went  down,  and  was  pleased  to  see  the  land- 
lady had  put  a  fresh  and  beautiful  bunch  of  chrysanthe- 
mums on  the  table,  and  that  the  room  was  in  good  order, 
and  the  fire  sparkling  in  the  grate.  As  she  walked  about 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  355 

the  room,  putting  straight  a  trifle  here  and  there,  a  ring 
came  at  the  hall  door-bell. 

"That  is  Ivan,"  she  thought,  stopping  short  in  her  occu- 
pation, "come  to  dinner." 

So  certain  did  she  feel  of  her  assumption  that  after  a 
hasty  glance  into  the  large  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece  she 
ran  herself  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  hall  to  the  door. 
Her  heart  was  beating  with  a  joyful  flutter.  At  last  it  was 
over,  the  tiresome  dull  waiting,  and  he  had  come,  and  there 
need  be  no  more  worry  and  "deciding."  He  had  come, 
and  she  was  resolutely  resolved  to  put  all  else  aside,  accepting 
him,  putting  him  between  herself  and  the  light,  standing 
him  in  the  window,  as  it  were,  which  looked  out  over  her 
past  life.  She  had  no  other  thought  in  her  heart  but  of  him, 
no  word  on  her  lips  but  his  name  as  she  slid  back  the  catch 
and  opened  the  door.  But,  with  that  word  unuttered,  she 
drew  back  suddenly  in  a  frozen  silence,  against  the  wall, 
saying  nothing.  On  the  steps  stood  a  tall,  slight  figure, 
elegant  in  all  its  outlines,  perfect  in  carriage  and  dress.  The 
same  that  once  had  sent  such  a  madness  of  joyous  devotion 
through  her,  such  fierce,  ungovernable  pleasure  and  passion. 
It  was  Eustace,  and  her  heart  fell  and  froze  at  sight  of  him. 
She  felt  a  sort  of  shrinking  horror  rushing  over  her,  a  terror, 
a  cringing  hatred.  The  very  sight  of  him,  that  once  so  dearly- 
loved  silhouette,  seemed  to  hurt  and  sear  her  eyes.  Yet  she 
said  nothing,  so  accustomed  had  all  the  powers  of  her  frame 
and  brain  become  to  serving  this  man,  to  shielding  him 
from  all  possible  pain,  to  pleasing  and  satisfying  him,  to 
using  every  sort  of  self-control  in  his  service.  Eustace, 
though  she  was  silent,  was  well  aware  of  her  state  and  her 
thoughts.  The  union  between  them  physically,  the  curious 
balance  of  electricity,  the  ties  of  body  and  mind,  made  it 
impossible  for  either  of  them  to  be  certain  of  successful  con- 
cealment or  deception  with  the  other.  He  did  not  appear 
to  notice  her  welcome,  or  rather  want  of  it,  but  stepped  over 
the  threshold  and  paused,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  come  to  let  me  in,"  he  said 


356  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

lightly,  easily,  naturally,  and  yet  with  that  tone  of  great 
affection  in  his  voice  that  at  one  time  had  sent  the  pleased 
blood  flying  to  her  face.  He  did  not  suggest  that  his  visit 
•was  unexpected,  or  that  there  was  any  need  to  apologise 
for  it,  or  to  make  excuses.  He  took  it  as  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  in  fact,  as  if  he  had  been  calling  there 
every  evening.  Still  silent,  Lydia  followed  him  up  the  hall, 
and  as  he  stood  aside,  passed  him  into  her  sitting  room.  She 
•went  straight  over  to  the  hearth  and  threw  herself  into  one 
of  the  armchairs  there,  leaving  him  to  enter  also,  and  shut 
the  door  after  him,  if  it  pleased  him,  which  it  did. 

Pelham  laid  his  overcoat  and  hat  on  a  chair  by  the  door, 
and  then  walked  over  and  stood  by  the  fire,  looking  down 
upon  her.  She  glanced  up,  let  her  eyes  wander  over  him, 
and  then  turned  their  gaze  back  upon  the  fire  without  speak- 
ing. He  would  not  notice  her  silence,  nor  anything  unusual 
in  her  manner. 

"The  weather  is  perfectly  terrible  in  London,"  he  said, 
speaking  in  his  softest  tones.  "You  are  more  fortunate 
down  here.  I  was  very  lonely  in  town.  I  thought  I  would 
come  down  and  see  you  this  evening.  Would  you  like  me 
to  stay  to  dinner :  is  it  convenient  ? " 

"Yes,  certainly,  stay  to  dinner,"  answered  Lydia,  mechan- 
ically. Was  it  all  pain,  this  feeling  his  presence  gave  her? 
Was  it  all  soreness  that  her  eyes  felt  as  she  looked  at  him, 
or  was  there  some  of  the  old  pleasure  mixed  with  it  ?  She 
could  not  tell.  There  seemed  some  confusion.  After  all, 
our  senses  are  only  as  so  many  servants  of  a  household,  of 
which  the  brain  is  the  head.  If  these  servants  have,  for  a 
long  time,  been  accustomed  to  obey  stringent  commands 
from  their  head,  no  wonder  they  stand  about  confused  when 
these  commands  are  suddenly  reversed.  Lydia's  brain  had 
for  so  long  issued  commands  as  "Eyes,  admire  Pelham." 
"Ears,  feel  delight  in  Pelham's  voice."  "Touch,  respond  to 
Pelham's,"  that  now,  though  the  brain  had  changed,  the 
poor  senses  could  not  immediately  understand  and  act  upon 
its  new  commands.  All  servants  need  training. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  357 

Pelham  was  not  in  the  least  disconcerted.  The  change 
that  had  come  over  her  face  when  she  first  looked  out  at 
him,  her  slow  shrinking  back  against  the  wall,  after  that 
swift  run  to  the  door,  had  been  noted,  with  a  bitter  pang  at 
his  heart.  How  often  that  eager  swiftness  had  been  for 
him!  And  the  contrast  of  his  reception  now,  with  former 
ones,  gave  him  sharp,  deep  pain,  but  that  only  strengthened 
the  fierce  determination  with  which  he  had  come,  and  which 
underlay  his  suave  and  gentle  manner. 

This  determination  to  conquer  her,  to  draw  her  back 
again  under  his  control,  to  make  her  reverse  all  that  she  had 
planned  and  decided,  was  that  which  was  disturbing  and 
distressing  her  senses,  her  brain,  her  whole  organisation. 
She  was  perfectly  conscious  of  his  determination,  his  aim  in 
seeking  her,  his  thoughts,  as  conscious  as  he  had  been  of  hers 
when  she  opened  the  door.  And  this  strong  determination, 
this  savage  will  working  in  him,  and  hostile  to  her  own, 
created  a  mesmeric  and  disturbing  influence,  a  disquieting 
atmosphere  round  him,  that  acted  on  her  physically,  making 
her  feel  nervous,  ill  and  exhausted. 

She  did  not  speak  nor  look  at  him,  but  remained  sitting 
motionless,  with  her  cheek  in  her  hand,  gazing  into  the 
blazing  fire.  She  wished  he  were  away,  longed  for  his 
absence.  She  felt  suffocated.  How  different  it  would  have 
been  if  Ivan  had  come.  She  had  just  struggled,  as  it  were, 
into  a  clean,  cool,  new  affection  when  Eustace  reappeared, 
bringing  with  him,  and  throwing  on  to  her,  the  hot  weight 
of  these  old  hampering  emotions,  impulses,  feelings,  which 
were  not  quite  dead.  No,  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  they 
could  not  have  harmed  her  dead,  but  dying.  They  cer- 
tainly would  have  died  had  he  left  her  alone  a  little  longer 
and  Ivan  had  had  time  to  come. 

Pelham  sat  down  in  the  armchair  opposite  her  and 
stretched  his  feet  out  before  him,  with  an  air  of  ease  and 
pleasure.  She  would  not  look  at  him.  She  knew  well 
enough  what  her  eyes,  gossiping  servants  as  they  were,  would 
tell  her,  they  had  told  it  so  often,  that  they  had  never  rested 


358  LIFE'S    SHOP    WIN'DOW 

on  anything  so  graceful  and  charming,  that  there  was  nothing 
commonplace  about  him,  that  each  movement  was  full  of 
ease  and  dignity.  She  knew  all  that,  she  did  not  wish  to 
hear  it  again. 

"Are  you  pleased  that  I  came  down  to  see  you?"  he 
asked,  after  a  minute's  pause. 

"Of  course  I  am  always  pleased  to  see  you,"  Lydia 
answered,  quietly,  with  an  even  dead  tone  and  accent.  She 
could  not  be  unkind  to  this  man — she  would  never  be  so — 
deliberately.  For  years  her  training  had  been  to  turn  aside 
from  him  anything  that  might  hurt  him.  She  hoped  he 
would  go  away  from  her  soon,  the  sooner  the  better,  but 
while  there  she  must  be  kind  to  him  as  always.  Pelham, 
though  he  showed  nothing,  inwardly  felt  fear.  This  calm 
evenness,  this  effort  to  keep  to  the  letter  of  old  forms,  when 
their  spirit  was  obviously  dead,  alarmed  him  as  no  anger, 
no  reproaches,  no  form  of  passion  could  have  done.  And 
he  was  right,  for  it  is  a  dangerous  symptom.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  really  might  be  too  late  to  re-conquer  this  prov- 
ince once  so  entirely  his  own,  and  the  man's  whole  soul 
and  will  rose  furiously  to  the  battle. 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  the  maid  came  in  to  lay  the 
dinner,  and  she  took  plenty  of  time  in  arranging  the  cloth 
and  the  covers,  staring  covertly  at  Pelham  the  while.  When 
she  got  downstairs  she  described  his  appearance  minutely 
to  the  landlady,  adding  that  she  supposed  he  was  the  lady's 
husband.  The  landlady  made  no  remark,  reserving  her 
opinion  on  that  point  apparently  after  hearing  his  description. 
When  the  dinner  was  served  Lydia  and  Pelham  took  their 
places  at  the  table,  and  since  the  maid  was  waiting  in  the 
room  handing  round  the  dishes  Lydia  laid  aside  her  silence, 
which  she  looked  upon  as  her  coat-of-mail  while  they  were 
alone,  and  responded  easily  in  the  same  light,  indifferent 
vein  to  Pelham 's  desultory  conversation.  She  was  even 
bright  and  gay,  for,  after  all,  she  would  much  rather  Ivan 
had  come,  but  then,  still,  she  could  not  help  Pelham 's  pres- 
ence, and  why  need  it  disturb  her  so  much?  She  had  quite 


LIFE'S    SHOP     WINDOW  359 

made  her  decision,  and  Ivan  himself  would  perhaps  come 
to-morrow.  Her  dinners  alone  for  so  long  had  been  simply 
frightful  to  her,  and  there  was  some  secret  excitement,  some 
faint,  far-off  pleasure  in  the  presence  of  this  man,  who  she 
felt  now  desired  her,  admired  her,  wanted  her  immensely, 
if  too  late.  She  ordered  the  maid  to  bring  out  the  cham- 
pagne from  its  case  in  the  corner,  and  under  its  influence 
and  that  of  the  knowledge  that  nothing  serious  could  be 
broached  before  the  servant,  Lydia  gained  a  bright  serenity. 
Pelham  talked  to  her  of  the  theatres  in  town,  and  other 
amusements,  choosing,  with  some  skill,  all  those  only  obtain- 
able at  considerable  cost.  Lydia  listened  and  laughed,  and 
the  dinner,  which  was  a  perfect  one,  perfectly  ordered  and 
cooked,  passed  as  gaily  and  brightly  as  their  dinners  had 
done  when  there  were  no  storms  brooding  round  them. 
The  servant  finally  set  the  coffee  on  the  table,  which,  with 
its  silver  coffee-pot  and  tiny  cups,  usually  remained  all  night, 
and  withdrew.  A  gravity  fell  upon  the  girl  when  they  were 
both  alone  again.  Pelham  noticed  it  and  immediately  set 
himself  to  combat  it. 

"See  what  I  have  brought  for  you,"  he  said,  smiling, 
drawing  from  his  pocket  a  tiny  case,  and  putting  it  on  the 
table  by  her  cup.  Lydia  took  it  up  slowly  and  opened  it. 
On  a  white  velvet  cushion  lay  a  heart  brooch  of  rubies. 
The  gems  glittered  and  sparkled  brilliantly  under  the  electric 
lamps,  with  their  own  crimson  fire.  Lydia  looked  down  a 
long  time  at  it  without  speaking.  The  gift  had  a  language, 
an  eloquence  of  its  own  that  she  understood  perfectly.  He 
had  never  been  able  to  speak  well  and  smoothly  of  things 
which  he  felt  deeply.  He  had  told  her  once  of  things  that 
he  felt  most  deeply  he  could  not  speak  at  all,  but  he  had 
spoken  now  by  this  gift,  chosen  evidently,  thought  of,  with 
care,  perhaps  made  for  her.  It  was  a  gift  which,  by  reason 
of  its  form,  its  significance,  its  value,  no  man  would  give 
lightly  to  one  he  esteemed  lightly,  in  the  circumstances  into 
which  these  two  had  drifted.  Least  of  all  a  man  like  Pelham, 
who  knew  her  well  enough  to  be  certain  that  gifts  could  not 


360  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

buy  of  her  anything,  though  they  might  speak  to  her.  Lydia 
lifted  the  glowing  thing  from  its  case  still  in  silence.  Was 
his  heart,  at  losing  her,  really  pulsating,  bleeding,  as  the 
quivering,  sanguinous  light  of  these  stones  made  this  golden 
heart  appear  to  do  ?  She  was  infinitely  distressed  as  she 
looked  down  at  it. 

"Come  here  and  let  me  fasten  it  on  for  you." 

In  the  gentle,  quiet  tones  her  quick  ear  detected  the 
veiled  accent  of  anxiety,  of  pain,  almost  of  fear,  and  it  ap- 
pealed to  her.  Reserved,  self-contained,  proud  as  he  was, 
she  knew  that  in  those  moments  she  had  supreme  power 
over  him.  But  she  had  no  idea  of  using  it.  Vengeance 
was  hers  but  she  had  no  thought  of  repaying.  When  he 
had  had  the  power  he  had  made  her  suffer  cruelly,  she  knew. 
She  remembered  everything.  But  no  man  ever  stood  be- 
fore a  more  clement,  generous  tribunal.  She  was  infinitely 
distressed.  She  did  not  want  to  pain  nor  to  humiliate  him. 
Their  love,  their  relationship,  after  all,  with  all  its  faults, 
had  been  on  a  higher  plane  than  most  of  such  earthly  ties. 
It  had  taken  some  dignity,  some  nobility,  from  her  own 
ardent  desire  for  his  benefit,  his  happiness,  and  latterly, 
also,  there  had  been  many  sacrifices,  much  tenderness  on 
his  part,  too,  to  sanctify  their  passion.  So  it  must  ever 
remain  in  thought  and  in  memory  as  it  had  been  in  fact. 
Something  above  the  usual  level  of  human  relations:  above 
revenge,  above  all  sordid  considerations,  above  reproaches, 
recriminations,  above  harsh  judgments.  Her  fingers  trem- 
bled a  little  as  they  touched  the  lustrous  crimson  stones. 

"It  will  look  very  well  on  that  white  dress  of  yours," 
came  again  his  voice,  even,  contained,  but  with  that  strange 
underlying  anxiety  in  it. 

"It  is  very  good  indeed  of  you  to  get  it  for  me,"  she  said 
at  last,  slowly,  constrainedly.  She  wanted  no  longer  either 
him  or  his  presents,  she  wanted  to  be  free  from  the  suffo- 
cating burden  of  things  once  so  prized,  so  wildly  valued, 
set  above  all  price.  But  the  great  tide  of  his  passion  welled 
up,  and  stood  towering  like  a  huge  wave  on  the  sea-shore, 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  361 

and  she  was  awed  by  it.  Not  lightly  either  can  a  mind 
like  hers,  trained  to  dwell  upon  emotions  and  weigh  them 
and  judge  them,  turn  away  from  a  love  like  this,  when  offered 
to  it.  Few  men  or  women  in  this  world  know  the  worth 
of  the  various  affections  they  unthinkingly  accept  or  refuse, 
and,  therefore,  the  mistakes  they  constantly  make  can  be 
understood  and  pardoned,  but  her  eyes  were  open.  She 
knew  well  the  value  of  a  love,  of  a  heart  like  this.  Feeling 
and  passion  were  sacred  to  her,  she  who  had  felt  and  suffered 
so  much.  And  she  saw  before  her,  clearly,  both  the  passion 
she  must  throw  away  and  the  suffering  she  must  inflict. 
Would  she  not  regret  it  ?  Ever  ? 

Yet  she  knew  she  was  cold  now  to  the  giver  and  the  gift. 
She  wanted  nothing  of  him.  Neither  did  she  want  to  hurt 
him.  She  wanted  him  gone  away,  to  trouble  her  no  more. 
She  wanted  peace  in  her  life,  and,  if  possible,  forgetfulness. 
Why  had  he  not  proved  and  shown  his  love  to  her  sooner? 
It  was  all  his  own  fault.  He  had  strained  the  bonds  that 
held  her  to  him  until  their  strength,  their  elasticity  had  gone. 
He  had  had  the  free  gift  of  a  love  such  as  few  men  find,  had 
seemed  not  to  consider  it,  and  had  lost  it.  Now  he  came 
to  her  asking  for  it  again,  when  she  had  it  no  longer  to  give. 
Her  face  and  eyes  were  cold  when  she  at  length  raised  them 
from  the  jewel  to  his  face. 

"Come  here,"  he  repeated,  and  obediently,  from  force 
of  long  habit,  she  went  up  to  him. 

He  took  the  brooch  and  fastened  it  very  gently  into  the 
white  lace  at  her  neck,  in  the  white  silk  of  her  bodice. 

"It  looks  very  well,"  he  said,  speaking  in  an  ordinary 
tone,  "go  and  look  in  the  glass." 

Lydia  let  him  fasten  in  the  brooch  without  protest. 
She  had  no  thought  of  refusing  his  gift.  It  would  have  hurt 
him  intensely  at  that  moment,  and  a  refusal  on  the  grounds 
of  her  own  pride,  her  unwillingness  to  accept  gifts  from 
him,  at  a  moment  when  she  contemplated  parting  with  him, 
would  have  seemed  supremely  absurd,  considering  that, 
from  head  to  foot,  she  stood  clothed  in  things  he  had  bought 


362  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

for  her,  not  a  shoe  buckle  on  her  foot,  nor  a  piece  of  lace  at 
her  throat,  not  a  spray  in  her  hair,  but  what  was  already 
his  gift.  To  her  to  refuse  his  brooch  would  be  like  a  mon- 
strous, ungrateful  denial  of  her  indebtedness  for  all  these. 
Besides,  she  knew  and  he  knew,  and  the  knowledge  was 
their  common  property,  that  none  of  these  things  constituted 
any  claim  or  tie.  She  had  given  to  him  all  she  had,  he  had 
also  given  very  much  to  her.  Nothing  but  the  divine  scales 
could  decide  justly  which  of  these  two  had  laid  heavier  weight 
in  the  balance,  and  one  great  sign  of  their  equality  was  the 
generous  willingness  of  each  to  admit  their  debt  to  the  other. 
When  Lydia  had  left  for  Southampton  she  had  taken  naturally 
all  her  personal  things,  all  given,  without  exception,  by  him: 
now,  whether  she  received  one  more  jewel  from  him  mattered 
little.  Nor  to  this  would  either  of  them  have  given  a  thought, 
since  their  love  had  always  been  above  and  beyond  the  little 
and  the  meaner  things  of  life. 

"It  is  a  lovely  thing,"  she  said,  after  a  swift  glance  at 
the  glass,  "but  really  I  am  sorry  you  brought  it  to  me." 

"Why  should  you  be  sorry  ?  You  were  always  so  fond  of 
rubies :  these  I  had  selected  especially  for  you  and  made  into 
that  form.  You  must  wear  it  and  enjoy  it." 

Lydia  was  silent  again.  Sunk  under  a  great  load  of 
oppression  she  felt  hardly  able  to  speak,  to  raise  her  eyes, 
to  move,  or  even  think:  the  whole  atmosphere  was  becom- 
ing charged  with  waves  of  electricity,  starting  from  him, 
filled  full  of  the  strong,  indomitable  will  which  was  natural  to 
him,  and  now  fully  awake,  and  his  devouring  determination 
to  re-possess  her;  these  waves  rolled  through  the  short  space 
between  them  and  broke  against  her  and  over  her  horribly. 

"What  name  are  you  staying  here  under?"  he  asked 
after  a  minute. 

She  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise. 

"Why,  yours.  I  could  not  tell  that  you  would  not  come 
down  here." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  he  pursued,  and  though  his 
face  was  very  calm  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  grew  whiter  while 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  363 

he  waited  for  her  answer.  "You  left  me  without  my  knowing 
very  decidedly,  and  I  want  to  know  where  I  stand." 

Lydia  answered  slowly,  and  with  evident  effort. 

"It  seemed,  when  I  thought  over  everything,  that  there 
was  no  use  in  our  continuing  to  be  together,  and  as  I  cannot 
live  alone,  and  he  wishes  it  very  much,  I  feel  I  may  as  well 
marry  Ivan." 

"Blakney  cannot  do  as  much  for  you  as  I  can,  can  he  ?" 

"I  daresay  not,  but  I  have  not  stayed  with  you  for  what 
you  could  do  for  me;  besides,  he  can,  and  wishes  to,  marry 
me." 

"I  can't  see  why  you  should  be  so  keen  on  being  married. 
You  were  married  once  and  then  you  were  anxious  to  get 
out  of  it." 

Lydia  was  silent,  as  this  demanded  no  direct  answer. 

"What  do  you  think  marriage  will  do  for  you  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  explain  it  if  you  do  not  see  for  your- 
self," Lydia  answered  coldly.  "Partly,  I  think,  I  want  rest, 
peace,  security.  I  have  never  liked  my  position  with  you, 
just  balanced  on  the  ragged  edge  of  uncertainty.  While 
I  was  under  the  influence  of  great  passion  I  accepted  it 
gladly.  Passion  gives  such  tremendous  compensations 
that  nothing  is  too  great  to  bear,  to  suffer,  to  go  through 
for  it.  But  that  is  over,  there  is  no  compensation  now,  and 
the  life  has  become  intolerable." 

Pelham,  sitting  motionless  in  the  chair  opposite  her,  was 
conscious  of  the  deadliest  pain  at  her  words.  He  sat  silent, 
waiting,  for  he  expected  her  each  minute  to  suggest  the  idea 
of  marriage  with  him:  to  ask  for  it  as  she  had  once  before: 
to  put  that  forward  as  the  price  of  her  staying  with  him. 
It  was  true  that  she  had  refused  it  when  they  first  came  to 
town  and  he  had  offered  it,  but  then  the  Blakney  matter 
was  quite  new  in  her  mind.  Also,  in  these  months,  he  knew 
he  had  really  striven  to  regain  his  position,  and  he  was  con- 
scious that  her  feelings  were  softened  towards  him.  He 
had  determined  when  he  came  to  win  at  all  costs:  even  at 
this  one.  He  felt  within  himself  the  possibility  of  bis  own 


364  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

love  dying  when  once  chained  up  and  made  a  captive,  and 
he  felt  too  he  could  never  have  the  same  entrain  of  passion 
for  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  bound,  as  for  an  object  entirely 
free  from  him.  But  no  matter  how  much  deterioration  the 
hateful  tie  brought  with  it,  how  much  he  might  suffer  in  the 
future,  if  that  were  the  price,  he  must  pay  it  to  keep  this 
woman  to  himself. 

What  he  had  suffered  last  night  when  he  had  seen  her 
belonging  to  another,  even  though  only  in  the  flash  of  a 
dream,  had  been  a  torture  beyond  human  strength.  Could 
he  prepare  this  for  himself,  night  after  night,  by  letting  the 
dream  become  a  reality  ?  And  admitted  that  in  time  per- 
haps forgetfulness,  indifference  would  come  to  his  rescue, 
what  a  frightful  gap  seemed  opening  in  the  midst  of  his  life. 

But  Lydia,  having  answered  his  questions  and  made 
her  statement,  said  nothing  more.  She  wished  to  say  the 
least  possible.  There  was  no  use.  All  words  seemed  so 
inadequate  now.  The  time  was  gone  by  for  asking  him  for 
anything,  to  do  anything.  Had  Pelham  realised  how  far 
she  was  from  asking  again  for  the  marriage  she  had  once  so 
eagerly  desired,  he  would  have  been  surprised,  he  could 
hardly  have  understood.  He  never  wholly  grasped  how 
far  dearer  theoretical  delights  were  to  her  than  practical 
advantages.  How  entirely  accustomed  she  was  to  view 
everything  in  this  world  from  its  romantic  side,  never  from 
the  sordid  and  mercenary  one.  So  that,  when  she  had 
wished  for  marriage  with  him,  he  naturally  thought  she 
looked  to  the  advantage  to  be  gained  from  the  position, 
whereas,  to  Lydia,  that  formed  but  a  microscopic  portion 
of  her  reasons  for  desiring  it.  The  idea  of  belonging  to  him 
wholly,  and  of  establishing  between  them  a  tie  the  world 
could  not  break,  was  what  had  captured  her  imagination 
and  her  fancies.  Similarly  that  which  had  wounded  her 
so  terribly  and  distressed  her  in  his  refusal  had  been,  not 
the  loss  of  any  solid  advantage,  of  which  she  had  scarcely 
thought,  but  the  realisation  that  he  did  not  care  for  her 
enough  to  marry  her,  that  she  was  only  reckoned  as  one  of 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  365 

the  many  other  women  who  had  been  loved  before  her. 
The  possibility  of  urging  him  into  a  marriage,  if  he  were 
unwilling,  was  absolutely  revolting  to  her.  His  wish,  his 
desire  for  their  marriage  was  valuable  to  her.  That,  indeed, 
she  coveted;  the  marriage,  without  these,  she  would  not 
have  tolerated. 

But  Pelham  had  never  had  the  companionship  of  a  soul 
so  utterly  detached  from  worldly  views,  so  pure  in  its  devotion 
to  sentiment  and  ideals,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  he  made  mistakes  in  dealing  with  it.  He  made  one  here 
for,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  even  granting  that  her  passion  for 
him  were  dead  as  she  said,  that  she  must  prefer  marriage 
with  him,  which  would  confer  so  much  upon  her,  to  marriage 
with  Blakney  that  could  give  her  nothing.  That  Blakney's 
intense  desire  for  it  outweighed  every  tangible  benefit  in 
her  judgment,  never  occurred  to  him. 

He  fought  silently  for  some  time  within  himself,  for 
though  he  meant  to  pay  this  price  for  her,  if  he  actually 
could  not  keep  her  without,  he  loathed  the  very  words  he 
had  to  use. 

"I  suppose  you  want  me  to  say  I  will  marry  you?"  he 
said  at  last  in  his  hardest  tone. 

She  put  out  her  hands  with  a  gesture  as  of  pushing  him 
away  from  her.  "Eustace,  I  want  nothing  of  you  except 
to  leave  me  by  myself  and  let  me  marry  this  man  as  I  have 
arranged." 

Pelham  paled,  visibly  this  time,  to  the  very  lips. 

Lydia,  looking  at  him,  wondered  what  storm  of  feeling 
was  raging  in  that  quiet,  motionless  figure,  and  marvelled 
at  that  wonderful  jealousy  of  the  male,  which  is  stronger 
than  any  other  of  the  component  parts  of  love.  All  her 
affection,  all  her  devotion,  all  her  charm  had  been  as  nothing 
in  their  power  to  rouse  his  passion  as  this  approach  of  another 
man.  Eustace  himself  afterwards  wondered  what  would 
have  happened  had  his  friend  entered  the  room  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  pressed  one  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  the  other 
clenched  involuntarily  as  it  hung  by  his  side.  How  often 


366  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

he  had  watched  the  wild  dogs  of  Constantinople  fighting  for 
the  female.  The  bloodshot  eyes,  the  bared  fangs,  mangling, 
mauling  the  throat  of  their  rival.  He  thought  of  them 
and  of  Blakney  together.  Are  men  any  different?  Any 
better  ? 

When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  had  that  curious  tone  in 
it  which  his  mistress  knew  so  well  meant  with  him  the  ex- 
treme of  pain  and  anger.  If  the  ordinary  voice  can  be 
represented  by  some  smooth  broad  blade  then  this  tone  was 
the  same  weapon  turned  on  its  edge. 

"  But  do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"Not  as  I  have  loved  you,  no,"  she  answered.  "But 
it  is  my  nature  to  love  any  man  with  whom  I  live  and  who 
is  good  to  me.  Besides,  in  a  new  connection  of  this  kind 
there  is  always  passion,  and,  as  I  have  said,  that  is  a  com- 
pensation for  everything." 

After  she  had  spoken  she  was  sorry.  The  veins  swelled 
into  a  hideous  network  by  the  temples,  and  the  lines  all 
over  his  face  seemed  deepening  as  she  looked  at  him.  Hitherto 
she  had  been  letting  her  words  out  one  by  one,  with  caution. 
Now,  for  a  moment,  she  had  spoken  less  guardedly,  and  the 
look  on  his  face  punished  her.  She  knew  something  of  his 
passions,  and  it  flashed  through  her  that  at  any  moment 
that  calm  might  break.  He  might  prefer  to  strangle  her 
rather  than  let  her  go  to  another.  But  she  did  not  shrink 
nor  stir.  She  had  always  faced  him  in  his  moments  of  anger 
unmoved.  She  had  not  a  single  cowardly  instinct  in  her. 

But  this  jealousy,  ardent,  brutal,  overpowering  as  it  is, 
men  strive  to  conceal.  Pelham  now  did  not  deign  to  pursue 
a  line  which  might  seem  like  action  against  a  rival. 

There  was  a  long,  long  silence  while  he  inwardly  fought 
for  self-control,  and  the  girl,  lying  far  back  in  her  chair, 
watched  him.  Then  he  got  up  and  went  over  to  her.  That 
dear  slim  figure  that  she  had  once  so  worshipped,  that  ease 
and  grace  of  movement,  that  dignity  of  face  and  form!  How 
it  all  came  back  to  her!  The  breathless  rush  of  passion  it 
had  inspired  in  former  days ! 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  367 

He  came  and  stood  close  beside  her  chair,  looking  dow» 
on  her  head  and  its  wealth  of  glossy,  waving  hair. 

"I  am  going  to  Ceylon  next  month.  I  have  taken  » 
cabin  for  the  6th — for  two.  You  had  better  come  with  me." 
He  spoke  in  a  tender,  confident  tone,  and  as  if  rivals,  marriage 
ceremonies,  old  and  new  passions  had  no  existence  in  a 
calm  and  happy  world. 

He  drew  up  a  chair  close  beside  hers.  Her  head  was 
turned  away.  The  blood-red  heart  on  her  breast  burned 
with  fierce  flames  in  the  firelight. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  live  with  you  again,"  she  said, 
feeling  herself  growing  infinitely  tired  as  this  fierce,  power- 
ful will  battled  over  her.  "Mrs  Bristowe  recommended 
you  to  me  as  a  good  lover:  she  said  the  place  was  a  good 
one,  easy,  and  the  pay  high.  It  was  high,  as  I've  said, 
while  I  could  respond  to  you,  but  now  I  do  not  find  the  place 
easy.  I  do  not  want  to  stop  in  it.  You  had  better  let  me 
go  now,  and  I  think,"  she  added,  "to  keep  up  Mrs  Bris- 
towe's  metaphor,  you  should  be  able  to  give  me  a  good 
character." 

She  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  added,  reflectively, 
half  to  herself,  as  she  looked  back  into  the  past, — 

"You  know  I  have  loved  you,  though  even  you  will 
never  know  how  much.  I  could  have  died  for  you  easily 
with  the  greatest  joy." 

She  had  not  glanced  up  at  him  once  while  she  was  speaking, 
and  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room.  She  felt  a  horrible, 
sick  tiredness  in  every  fibre,  and  sank  lower  into  her  chair. 

Suddenly  she  felt  a  burning  on  her  hand.  She  glanced 
at  it.  It  was  wet.  She  sprang  up  and  looked  at  him.  His 
eyes  were  brimming,  suffused,  and  the  scorching  tears  left 
a  crimson  stain  on  the  face.  It  was  horrible  to  see  the  tears 
and  bloodshot  veins  in  those  grave,  quiet  eyes. 

"Oh,  don't,  pray,  don't,"  Lydia  exclaimed,  involuntarily 
approaching  him,  distressed  beyond  measure. 

How  often  she  had  shed  tears  for  him  she  forgot  to  think 
of.  Besides,  she  knew  the  different  value  of  his  tears  and  hers. 


368  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Pelham  stretched  out  his  arms  and  entwined  them 
round  her  waist,  as  she  stood  near  him,  and  laid  his  head 
against  the  bosom  he  had  been  accustomed  to  stab  with 
pain  or  make  leap  with  pleasure  as  he  wished. 

"Darling,"  he  murmured,  and  Lydia  stood  with  a  sense 
of  being  vanquished.  A  feeling  that  she  could  not  get  away 
pressed  on  her. 

She  glanced  down  at  his  face  against  her  breast.  There 
was  something  terrible  in  the  way  those  slow,  scorching 
tears  forced  themselves  from  beneath  the  closed,  reddened 
lids.  She  was  not  a  woman  who  could  despise  tears,  or 
mistake  them  for  a  sign  of  weakness.  That  those  eyes 
which  had  gazed  often  into  Death's,  without  flinching,  that 
were  like  flints  when  they  looked  upon  an  enemy,  should 
fill  with  tears  for  her,  was,  she  knew,  the  truest,  deepest 
homage  she  could  have,  and  it  commanded  from  her,  as  all 
homage  does  from  those  who  are  worth  it,  respect.  The 
terrible  pain  that,  in  one  to  whom  reserve  was  so  habitual, 
and  usually  so  easy,  must  cause  such  tears,  spoke  to  her. 
The  emotion  they  meant  was  unconcealed.  And  Pelham 's 
capacity  for  emotion  was  the  trait  of  all  that  perhaps  she 
valued  most.  The  query  came  to  her  then  again,  Was  it 
well  to  abandon  this? 

"Pray  don't,"  she  murmured,  and  stooped  to  kiss  him 
on  the  wet  eyelids.  He  drew  her  head  lower  and  kissed 
her  lips,  and  she  was  drawn  close  to  him  in  the  old  embrace, 
and  heard  his  heart  beating  hard  upon  her  own.  And  the 
old  feelings  began  to  stir,  and  run  into  their  old  grocves 
again.  She  was  held,  as  one  is  held  who  lays  his  hands  on 
an  electric  battery,  unwilling,  tortured  and  afraid.  Yet 
once  that  cruel  invisible  force  is  working,  and  the  invisible 
circle  established,  no  earthly  power  can  set  one  free. 

"Surely  you  do  care  for  me  a  little  still  ?"  he  murmured, 
drawing  her  closer  and  closer  into  his  arms,  and  the  agony 
he  suffered  in  those  moments  went  into  her,  and  made  her 
own  agony,  and  to  loosen  the  weight  of  the  pain  from  her, 
her  lips  instinctively  said  "Yes"  in  reply. 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  369 

"Then  why  do  you  let  anyone  else  come  between  us? 
You  don't  really  want  to  marry  Blakney,"  and,  sinking 
under  the  flood  of  his  emotions  that  he  was  pouring  over 
her,  she  began  to  feel  that  she  did  not.  "We  have  had  some 
good  times  together,  haven't  we  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered  again,  but  it  was  his  will  in  her 
that  spoke  and  not  her  own. 

She  felt  in  those  moments  that  though  there  had  been 
good  times,  though  they  had  been  quite  the  best,  there  could 
never  be  any  more  for  her  with  him  that  would  hold  that 
highest  point  of  pleasure  that  the  gods  have  decreed  for 
mortals  to  know.  But  she  felt  she  was  being  gradually 
conquered,  irresistibly,  by  the  affection  that  was  the  child 
of  her  former  passion,  and  she  saw,  in  a  flash  of  thought, 
now  suddenly,  what  her  punishment,  her  Nemesis,  was  going 
to  be.  Her  affection,  that  kind  nature  and  heart  of  hers, 
that  she  had  once  outraged  in  the  desertion  of  Bernard  and 
the  child,  were  going  to  throw  her,  bound  and  helpless,  a 
prisoner  at  the  feet  of  this  man,  who  could  no  longer  fill  up 
her  life,  no  longer  satisfy  those  restless  desires  that  would  be 
the  Erinnyes  of  her  future.  She  realised  now,  as  once  before, 
that  purchases  made  in  Life's  shop  are  not  easily  flung  away 
and  disposed  of  at  the  exact  minute  the  purchaser  wishes, 
at  least,  not  when  one  has  been  sent  into  the  world  with 
that  horrible  burden,  a  kind  and  gentle  heart. 

Struggling  now  to  free  herself  from  the  bonds  of  a  past 
passion  she  found  she  could  not.  She  had  done  so  once — 
she  had  changed  her  purchase  once — a  privilege  that,  even 
in  the  great  shop,  but  she  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  do  it 
again.  And  as  a  bound  captive  she  ceased  to  resist,  to 
struggle.  She  had  said  to  herself  she  would  accept  her 
Destiny,  and  now,  face  to  face  with  it,  realising  it  as  different 
from  what  she  had  hoped,  expected,  yet  fully  understanding 
it  was  hers,  she  accepted  it,  and  with  that  acceptance,  so 
full  is  life  of  swift  surprises,  there  came  a  sudden  ease  of 
heart,  a  lifting  of  pain  from  her.  She  yielded,  knowing 
herself  utterly  vanquished,  yet  freed  from  suffering  in  defeat. 


370  LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW 

Had  Lydia,  that  night,  been  permitted  for  one  instant  to 
lift  the  curtain,  she  would  have  been  surprised  at  her  future, 
so  little  do  we  know  of  our  own  hearts'  mysteries. 

She  would  have  seen  beyond,  not  empty  darkness  but 
transfiguring  light. 

Many  things  do  the  gods  accomplish  which  are  unhoped 
for  and,  through  a  maze  of  difficulties,  they  open  sometimes 
an  unexpected  way.  The  kaleidoscope  of  time  moved  on 
and  not  back,  but  the  colours  were  not  yet  blurred  nor  blotted 
out,  and  as  the  divine  hand  turned  it  slowly  through  the 
ensuing  year,  before  her  eyes,  the  pattern  of  life  fell  gently 
again  into  place,  brilliant  and  glowing  with  the  tints  cf  re- 
awakening love. 

The  magic  influence  that  Pelham  had  possessed  over  her, 
which  had  drawn  her  unwilling  feet  through  the  forest  to 
him,  was  strong  enough  still  to  re-capture  the  fleeting  spirit 
of  her  passion.  Time  only  was  needed  in  which  the  magic 
might  work,  and  time  was  given  him. 

Though  the  flowers  might  be  dead,  the  roots  of  that  love 
she  had  for  him  still  remained  alive,  and  from  them,  in  the 
summer  of  his  love  for  her,  flowers  bloomed  again. 

The  letter  of  final  farewell  which  she  wrote  that  night 
to  Blakney  was  stained  with  tears,  but  a  year  later  in  India, 
looking  back  to  that  picture  of  her  weeping  self,  she  marvelled 
at  the  vision. 

Full  of  her  re-animated  love  for  Pelham  and  absolutely 
happy  in  it  she  could  not  realise  her  distress  of  these-moments. 

So  does  surprise  after  surprise  crowd  upon  us  as  the  hues  of 
our  life  ever  shift  and  change  around  us,  varying  and  tran- 
sient as  the  colours  of  the  sunset,  and  happy  indeed  are  those, 
for  whom,  through  that  brilliant  mirage,  a  god  finds  out  the 
way. 

The  next  day,  in  the  dusk  of  the  wintry  '^iternoon, 
Pelham  and  Lydia  drove  from  Waterloo  back  to  his  rooms, 
where  they  would  stay  for  a  few  days  till  their  steamer  started. 

Sitting  in  the  cab,  with  Pelham 's  hand  lying  on  her  knee, 
Lydia  gazed  out  through  the  window  at  the  brightly-lighted 


LIFE'S    SHOP    WINDOW  371 

streets.  Shop  window  after  shop  window,  filled  with  Christ- 
mas presents  and  Christmas  cards  and  toys,  threw  their 
warm  floods  of  yellow  light  across  the  pavements,  and  ever, 
in  front  of  those  brilliant  panes,  drifted  a  staring,  coveting, 
hesitating  crowd  of  figures  always  looking  in. 

So  does  the  human  being,  in  his  youth  desiring  the  Whole, 
yet  having  in  hand  only  the  price  of  one  small  part,  stare, 
covet  and  hesitate  before  that  dear,  delusive,  cheating,  dis- 
tracting window,  with  the  pickpocket  Time  watching  and 
waiting  at  the  corner,  that  great  brilliant,  mocking  window., 
THE  SHOP  WINDOW  OF  LIFE. 


By  VICTORIA  CROSS 

"The  great  English  novelist" 

"Victoria  Cross  is  a  writer  of  genius." 

Review  of  Reviews. 

"The  work  of  Victoria  Cross  in  its  peculiar 
power  of  vivid  description  has  ^real  genius." 

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SIX  CHAPTERS  OF  A  MAN'S 
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A  GIRL  OF  THE  KLONDIKE 

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THE  OTHER  MAN'S  WIFE 
by  FRANK  RICHARDSON 

^  It  is  a  large  theme,  largely  handled,  that  is  making  talk 
about  "The  Other  Man's  Wife."  The  New  York 
Herald  says :  "  We  find  here  a  novel  with  an  unmistak- 
able mastery  of  style  and  a  vivid  portrayal  of  human 
beings  bowed  beneath  passions  and  ambitions  stronger 
than  themselves." 

THE  BOMB  by  FRANK  HARRIS 

^f  A  powerful  book,  vividly  and  finely  written.  The  story 
moves  swiftly  on,  with  its  wonderful  love  scenes,  its  vivid 
portrayal  of  character,  and  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the 
tragedy  which  made  a  shambles  of  the  Haymarket,  and 
drew  upon  Chicago  the  gaze  of  the  world. 


ONE  FAIR  DAUGHTER 
by  FREDERIC  P.  LADD 

fj  A  strikingly  unusual  story  of  "the  usual  and  universal 
three."  It  is  a  tale  that  grips.  Its  theme  is  beauty,  in  body 
and  in  character:  beauty  that  has  an  inevitable  affinity 
for  its  own  likeness,  and  an  inevitable  repulsion  from  the 
grotesque,  the  vulgar,  the  sordid  and  the  untrue. 


THE  POWER  OF  A  LIE 
by  JOHAN  BOJER 

CJ  The  Power  of  a  Lie  has  lately  been  crowned  by  the 
Academy  of  France.  This  is  a  high  guarantee  of  excel- 
lence, but  it  could  scarcely  have  been  witheld  from  a  book 
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At  all  bookshops 


By  SEWELL  FORD 

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fun.**  London  Standard 

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